ETHJC 


A  TREASURY  OF  PLAYS  FOR  CHILDREN 


fflontrose  ST. 


THE  AMERICAN  DRAMATIST 
REPRESENTATIVE  BRITISH  DRAMAS 
CHILDREN'S  BOOKS  AND  READING 
HENRIK  IBSEN:  THE  MAN  AND  His  PLAYS 
A  TREASURY  OP  PLAYS  FOR  CHILDREN 


IN  THE  TOYMAKER'S  SHOP. 

The  T 


<>f  .\nrcniherg. 


A  TREASURY  OF  PLAYS 
FOR  CHILDREN  • 


EDITED   BY 


MONTROSE  J.   MOSES 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

TONY  SARG 


BOSTON 
LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 

1921 


Copyright, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved 
Published  November,  1921 


PBINTKO  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  or  AUEBICA 


Orchestra  Two 

Has  eyes  of  blue, — 
And  so  has  Orchestra  Three; 

And  they  both  love  fun, 

Like  Orchestra  One,  — 
And  that's  as  it  all  should  be. 

Dear  Orchestra  Two, 

With  heart  so  true, 
Our  love  for  a  play  is  certain; 

May  Orchestra  Three, 

Like  you  and  me, 
Thrill  at  the  rise  of  a  curtain. 

So,  Orchestra  Two, 

This  book  to  you 
I  edit  in  trust  for  Tad — 

Who  is  Orchestra  Three 

To  you  and  me,  — 
His  Mother,  your  Chum,  and  his  Dad, 


/ 

t 

CDUC 


"OLD  WELL" 

NEW  HABTFORD 

CONNECTICUT 

May,  1921 


*A  NOTE  OF  ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

When  the  Editor  first  thought  of  compiling  this  "Treasury 
of  Plays  for  Children,"  he  asked  a  number  of  authors  to  gather 
around  his  Table  of  Contents.  It  is,  therefore,  with  grateful- 
ness that  he  acknowledges  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Frances  Hodg- 
son Burnett,  through  the  courtesy  of  her  own  consent  and  that 
of  her  publisher,  Samuel  French;  Mr.  Tony  Sarg  and  Mrs. 
Hamilton  Williamson,  who  know  so  much  about  puppets  and 
the  strings  that  make  them  dance;  W.  Graham  Robertson,  Esq., 
who  sent  Pinkie  all  the  way  from  England;  Mr.  Stuart  Walker 
who,  with  the  permission  of  Messrs.  Stewart  &  Kidd,  gave  us 
from  his  Portmanteau  Theater  a  lovable  hero;  Lady  Gregory, 
through  the  consent  of  her  publishers,  Messrs.  G.  P.  Putnam's 
Sons;  Messrs.  E.  P.  Dutton  &  Company,  and  Samuel  French, 
who  have  issued  editions  of  the  world-famous  Punch  and  Judy; 
Miss  Marguerite  Merington  (thanks  to  Messrs.  Duffield  & 
Company),  who  writes  in  an  English  style  worthy  of  King 
Arthur's  Court;  Miss  Constance  D'Arcy  Mackay  (through 
Messrs.  Henry  .Holt  &  Company),  a  pioneer  writer  of  dramas 
for  amateur  players;  Mr.  John  Bennett  (by  permission  of  The 
Century  Company),  whose  Master  Skylark,  in  the  dramatiza- 
tion by  Anna  M.  Liitkenhaus,  is  an  excellent  Elizabethan  hero ; 
Mr.  William  C.  DeMille,  who  has  made  many  worthy  efforts 
to  establish  a  Children's  Theater  in  New  York;  Miss  Alice 
Gerstenberg,  a  lover  of  Lewis  Carroll,  to  whom  she  dedicates 
her  dramatization;  Mr.  Austin  Strong,  whose  Toymaker  de- 
serves to  be  loved  as  broadcast  as  dolls  and  Teddy  Bears;  and 
The  Seven  Old  Ladies  of  Lavender  Town  (by  consent  of  Harper  & 
Brothers) . 

With  such  a  rare  Company,  the  Editor  feels  that  his  book 
has  caught  the  joyous,  imaginative  mood  of  his  guests  —  a 


viii  A  Note  of  Acknowledgment 

mood  ably  sustained  by  the  quaint  pen  and  brush  of  Mr.  Tony 
Sarg.  All  that  is  needed,  now,  is  to  find  a  goodly  company  of 
readers:  the  Table  of  Contents  is  spread  for  them;  the  authors 
will  wait  upon  them  —  while  the  Editor,  as  head  caterer,  can 
vouch  that  the  fare  is  of  the  best  the  market  affords. 

MONTBOSE  J.  MOSES. 


WARRANTED  HARMLESS 

"  Warranted  Harmless  —  That  is  one  good  point  to  be  assured 
of  before  we  put  plays  into  the  hands  of  our  children,"  says  a 
mother,  looking  at  this  book  in  the  bookseller's  shop. 

"But,  mamma,"  says  her  little  girl9  "are  they  entertaining?" 

"Aye,  mamma,  are  they  entertaining?"  repeats  her  brother: 
"I  never  will  read  them,  unless  they  are  warranted  entertaining  as 
well  as  harmless.  Of  all  things,  I  would  never  read  plays,  unless 
they  divert  me:  what  else  are  they  good  for?" 

"Nothing,  certainly.  I  want  to  see  whether  they  look  entertain- 
ing" says  the  little  girl,  "but  I  cannot,  yet,  for  mamma  is  reading 
the  preface;  and  you  know,  brother,  you  never  like  prefaces." 

"Never.  They  always  are  stupid,  and  tell  us  that  every  book  is 
entertaining  —  there's  no  believing  them.  Besides,  they  are  al- 
ways so  long." 

"  This  is  short,  at  any  rate,"  —  says  the  little  girl,  peeping  at 
the  pages  over  her  mother's  shoulder. 

"Well!  —  what  does  it  tell  us?" 

"It  tells  us,  in  the  first  place,  that  these  plays  were  written 
at " 

"No  matter  where,  my  dear." 

"Many  years  ago;  in  the  year " 

"Wo  matter  when,  my  dear." 

"  They  have  been  lying  by,  nine  years  or  more " 

"No  matter  for  that  either;  though  I  know  it  is  Horace's  old 
advice,"  says  the  boy:  —  "but  that  will  not  make  the  plays  divert 
us  the  more,  if  they  are  not  diverting." 

"They  were  originally  written,"  continues  the  little  girl,  "for 
the  amusement  of  a  private  family." 

"I  don't  care  for  whose  amusement  they  were  originally  written. 
I  do  not  know  why  authors  always  tell  us  that." 

"But  listen,  my  dear:  they  were  read  to  the  young  people  they 
were  written  for  on  their  birthdays!  —  Oh,  brother!  oh,  mamma! 
I  should  like  to  have  a  play  read  to  me  on  my  birthday." 

"If  it  was  entertaining,  I  suppose  you  mean,"  persists  the  sturdy 
boy;  "for  plays  being  read  on  all  the  birthdays  in  the  world  would 
not  make  them  entertaining  if  they  were  tiresome." 


x  Warranted  Harmless 

"  Certainly,  brother.  But  listen,  my  dear,  not  one  of  the  audi- 
ence fell  asleep,  the  author  says " 

"The  author  says! —  Ah!  but  perhaps,  without  the  author's 
seeing  it,  some  did  sleep.  I  know  I  have  gone  to  sleep  when  people 
were  reading  very  grand  things" 

"But  not  plays,  brother." 

"  Yes,  even  plays,  when  read,  —  I  do  not  mean  acted.  Acting 
plays  I  always  like" 

"Some  plays,  they  say,  are  good  only  for  reading" 

"  Those,  I  say,  are  good  for  little  or  nothing  to  my  mind,"  says 
the  boy:  "and  if  these  are  of  that  sort,  I  will  have  none  of  them" 

"Listen,  brother  —  some  of  them  have  been  acted" 

"With  unbounded  applause,  does  not  the  author  say?  that  al- 
ways comes  next" 

"No;  here  is  nothing  about  unbounded  applause:  but  it  says, 
that  one  little  play,  which  was  acted,  made  people  laugh." 

"Laugh!  really  laugh!  —  then  it  might  do  for  us,  my  dear. 
Which  of  them  was  acted?  —  whaCs  the  name  of  it?" 

"I  do  not  know;  the  preface  does  not  tell  that" 

"Prefaces  never  tell  the  thing  one  wants  to  know"  says  the  boy. 

"But  mamma  will  look  over  the  plays  for  us,"  says  the  little 
girl,  "and  see  which  will  do  for  OUT  acting." 

"I  should  like  to  look  them  over  for  myself,"  said  the  boy. 

"Do  so  then,  my  dear,"  says  the  kind  mother,  putting  the  book 
into  his  hands. 

"But  we  cannot  judge  without  reading  them  all." 

"Read  them  all,  my  dear,  then,"  says  the  mother;  "that  is  just 
what  the  author  desires,  that  young  persons  should  read,  judge,  and 
decide  on  these  plays  for  themselves." 

"I  like  that!  —  that  is  what  I  like!"  cried  both  the  little  critics, 
drawing  up  their  heads,  while  their  mother  read  to  them  the  last 
words, 

"It  is  for  young  readers  to  determine  whether  these  little 
plays  are  amusing  or  not.  They  —  and  they  only  —  can  pro- 
nounce the  sentence  which  the  author  most  wishes  to  add, 


— With  slight  changes,  this  conversation  forms  the  preface  to  Maria 
Edgeworth's  "Little  Plays  for  Children"  published  in  London,  in 
1827. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  NOTE  OP  ACKNOWLEDGMENT vii 

WARRANTED  HARMLESS       .                      ix 

THE  LITTLE  PRINCESS.     Frances  Hodgson  Burnett        ...  3 

U<FHE  SILVER  THREAD.     Constance  D'Arcy  Mackay        ...  63 

THE  TESTING  OF  SIR  GA WAYNE.     Marguerite  Merington     .       .  105 

PINKIE  AND  THE  FAIRIES.     W.  Graham  Robertson         .       .       .  137 

PUNCH  AND  JUDY 223 

*  THE  THREE  WISHES.     Hamilton  Williamson  and  Tony  Sarg      .  235 
THE  TOYMAKER  OF  NUREMBERG.     Austin  Strong          .       .        .  253 

*  Six  WHO  PASS  WHILE  THE  LENTILS  BOIL.     Stuart  Walker         .  319 
%  MASTER  SKYLARK.     [John  Bennett.]     Anna  M.  Lutkenhaus       .  353 

ALICE  IN  WONDERLAND.     [Lewis  Carroll.]     Alice  Gerstenberg      .  377 

*  THE  TRAVELLING  MAN.     Lady  Gregory 437 

•  THE  MONTHS:   A  PAGEANT.     Christina  G.  Rossetti       .       .       .  453 
THE  FOREST  RING.     William  C.  DeMille  and  Charles  Barnard  .  471 
THE  SEVEN  OLD  LADIES  OF  LAVENDER  TOWN.     Henry  C.  Bunner  517 

AN  INTRODUCTION  WHICH  is  AN  APPENDIX 541 

A  READING  LIST  .  547 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


THE  TOYMAKER  OF  NUREMBERG    .         .         .     Frontispiece  in  Color 
In  the  Toymaker's  Shop. 

PAGK 

THE  SILVER  THREAD.    Act  I.    Scene  ii  ....       84 

Cubert.  —  "  Hark !     I  hear  them  coming ! " 

THE  TESTING  OF  SIR  GA WAYNE 117 

Arthur.  —  "Whereon  rushed  forth  the  most  outrageous 
churl  and  greatest  murtherer  was  ever  seen,  with  a  huge 
laughter  like  thunder,  and  spitting  flames  of  fire  from  his 
monstrous  mouth!" 

THE  THREE  WISHES.    Act  II 251 

Martin.  —  "  Gripes,  I  wish  they  were  growing  to  the  end 
s       of  your  nose!  !  !" 

Six  WHO  PASS  WTHILE  THE  LENTILS  BOIL      ....     343 
Singer  (Sings)  —  "Six  stalwart  sons  the  miller  had." 

MASTER  SKYLARK.     Fourth  Scene 363 

Master-Player.  —  "Upon  my  heart,  he  has  a  skylark 
prisoned  in  his  throat!  Well  sung,  Master  Skylark!  Where 
did  you  learn  that  song?" 

ALICE  IN  WONDERLAND.    Act  II 411 

Frog. —  "I  shall  sit  here,  till  to-morrow."  (The  door 
opens  and  a  large  plate  skims  out  straight  at  the  Frog's  head.) 

THE  MONTHS 458 

February.  —  "You  wonderful,  you  woolly  soft  white  lamb." 

THE  FOREST  RING.    Act  II 495 

Thomas.  —  "I'd  like  to  meet  a  real  old  soker,  and  cow 
him  with  my  eye." 


A  TREASURY  OF  PLAYS  FOR  CHILDREN 


ABOUT  THE  LITTLE  PRINCESS 

There  are  a  number  of  books  written  by  well-known  authors 
and  dealing  with  memories  of  their  childhood.  I  would  recom- 
mend Laura  E.  Richards'  "When  I  Was  Your  Age",  Frances 
Hodgson  Burnett's  "The  One  I  Knew  Best  Of  All",  and 
W.  D.  Howells's"  A  Boy's  Town. "  They  may  not,  in  every  re- 
spect, be  of  holding  interest  to  boys  and  girls,  but  in  each  one 
there  are  incidents  as  graphic  in  story  quality  and  as  charm- 
ing in  description  as  Mrs.  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin's  recollection 
of  a  railroad  ride  she  once  had  with  Charles  Dickens. 

So  I  turn  to  Mrs.  Burnett's  girlhood  record,  and,  in  the 
chapter,  "Literature  and  the  Doll,"  find  this  quotation,  very 
apt  and  to  my  present  purpose.  She  writes: 

"When  I  recall  the  adventures  through  which  the  Dolls  of 
the  Small  Person  passed,  the  tragedies  of  emotion,  the  scenes 
of  battle,  murder,  and  sudden  death,  I  do  not  wonder  that  at 
times  the  sawdust  burst  forth  from  their  calico  cuticle  in 
streams,  and  the  Nursery  floor  was  deluged  with  it.  ...  She 
was  all  the  characters  but  the  heroine  —  the  Doll  was  that. 
She  was  the  hero,  the  villain,  the  banditti,  the  pirates,  the  exe- 
cutioner, the  weeping  maids  of  honour,  the  touchingly  benevo- 
lent old  gentleman,  the  courtiers,  the  explorers,  the  king." 

Nearly  every  one  of  us  has  the  same  recollection  —  the  same 
ambition  to  take  every  part  in  a  play  has  kept  us  awake  at 
nights  in  exciting  tremor  to  make  the  attempt.  I  recall  aiding 
in  a  melodrama,  "On  Board  the  Mary  Saint  Elizabeth,"  which 
some  of  my  boy  neighbours  and  I  concocted  in  the  nursery, 
"when  we  were  your  age"  ;  and  when  the  time  came  to  toss 
over  the  side  of  the  sinking  vessel  one  of  the  crew  —  a  cat  — 
there  was  always  a  dispute  among  the  remaining  actors  as  to 
which  one  of  us  should  go  over  the  side,  dare  the  rug  and  rug- 
ged waves,  and  rescue  the  drowning  sailor  on  our  broom  raft. 


4  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

It  is  a  good  principle  that  all  theaters  for  children  should  be 
founded  on  the  idea  that  no  pedagogical  theory  need  hide  the 
ultimate  goal  -  "to  supply",  as  Mrs.  Heniger,  founder  of  the 
Children's  Educational  Theater,  says,  "a  hitherto  unsupplied 
though  universal  demand  —  the  demand  of  children  and  young 
people  for  interesting  entertainment ",  and  she  quotes  the  state- 
ment of  a  child  who  witnessed  and  took  part  in  a  production 
of  Shakespeare's  "The  Tempest",  and  who  declared  that  "All 
the  people  in  the  neighbourhood  knew  about  the  'Tempest',  and 
them  that  don't,  I  tell  them." 

It  was  that  child-appeal  which  caught  the  tenement  boys  and 
girls,  and  made  them  kings  and  queens  rather  than  street  gamins, 
under  Mrs.  Heniger 's  direction.  To  them  the  act  of  wearing  a 
crown  or  royal  robes  was  the  fact  of  being  royal;  and,  no  matter 
whether  or  not  they  could  speak  English,  these  foreign  chil- 
dren, in  the  crowded  section  of  downtown  New  York,  wanted 
to  wear  the  clothes  of  "make  believe."  So,  among  the  children 
of  strange  tongues  —  from  all  corners  of  the  globe,  —  Mrs. 
Heniger  gathered  the  casts  of  characters  for  such  plays  as  Mrs. 
Burnett's  "The  Little  Princess",  Mr.  De  Mille's  "The  Forest 
Ring",  Miss  Merington's  "Snow  White  and  the  Seven  Dwarfs", 
Mark  Twain's  "The  Prince  and  the  Pauper",  "As  You  Like 
It",  "A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream",  "The  Tempest",  and 
Mrs.  Burnett's  "Editha's  Burglar."  As  Dr.  J.  J.  Walsh  said, 
after  witnessing  the  results  of  the  dramatic  work  done  at  the 
Children's  Theater: 

"The  Educational  Theater  .  .  .  represents  a  definite  at- 
tempt to  get  back  to  some  of  the  old-time  methods  by  which 
people  were  brought  ultimately  in  contact,  not  merely  for  the 
passing  hour  of  the  performance,  but  for  long  before,  with  the 
thoughts  and  expressions  of  great  writers." 

There  are  some  stories  that  seem  to  have  been  written  only 
yesterday,  so  often  are  they  spoken  of;  yet  think  how  many 
years  ago  it  was  that  Miss  Alcott's  "Little  Women",  "Little 
Men",  "Eight  Cousins",  and  "Rose  in  Bloom"  were  new. 
There  was  a  small  boy  I  once  knew  who  began  calculating  the 


The  Little  Princess  5 

fact  that  "Little  Lord  Fauntleroy" —  the  first  book  he  ever 
read  by  himself  —  was  written  in  1886,  nearly  thirty-five  years 
ago !  Yet  if  he  had  only  thought  of  the  difference  between  Lord 
Fauntleroy  curls  and  the  Buster  Brown  haircut,  it  would  have 
made  him  realize,  as  quickly  as  Teddy  Bears  made  the  Toy- 
maker  of  Nuremberg,  how  fast  time  does  travel. 

"Sara  Crewe"  first  appeared  in  St.  Nicholas  around  1888, 
when  the  generation  that  now  belongs  to  your  mother  and 
father  was  young  and  first  wept  over  the  fate  of  Sara  at  Miss 
Minchin's,  as  they  wept  over  Nicholas  Nickleby  at  Squeers'. 
Since  that  time,  the  story  has  been  dramatized,  and  given  pro- 
fessionally and  by  amateurs. 

As  a  matter  of  record,  I  include  the  following: 

THE  LITTLE  PRINCESS 
CRITERION  THEATER 

NEW  YORK 
January  14,  1903 

CAST 

SARA  CREWE  (The  Little  Princess)  Millie  James 

LOTTIE Beryl  Morse 

JESSIE Phyllis  Phillips 

LAVINIA Pauline  Chase 

CLARA Mildred  Morris 

Miss  MINCHIN Helen  Tracy 

Miss  AMELIA May  Davenport  Seymour 

BECKY Louise  Galloway 

MRS.  CARMICHAEL Mrs.  Woodward 

JANET Leonie  Darmon 

NORA Edna  Hall  Smith 

MAZIE Linnie  Ruth  Gee 

DONALD Donald  Gallagher 

ERMENGARDE Mabel  Taliaferro 

MR.  CARRISFORD Thomas  L.  Coleman 

RAM  DASS Frederic  Murphy 


6  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

MR.  CARMICHAEL Clarence  Handyside 

MB.  BARROW Frank  Kingdon 

MR.  GUEST Frank  Reicher 

MAID  SERVANT Adelaide  Alexander 

PUPILS  AT  Miss  MINCHIN'S  SCHOOL    Edith  Storey,  Mamie  Mc- 

Manus,  Lilian  Claire, 
Loraine  Frost,  Mary 
Burroughs,  Mabel  Gib- 
son, Maisie  Banker, 
Enidene  Booth,  Natalie 
Black,  Margery  Black, 
Nellie  Kirby,  and  Helen 
Larkin. 

"A  Little  Un-Fairy  Princess",  by  Mrs.  Burnett,  was  pro- 
duced in  London,  at  the  "Avenue",  September  18,  1902;  at 
the  "Shaftesbury",  December  20,  1902,  and  transferred  to 
"Terry's",  January  19,  1903,  at  which  time  its  name  was 
changed  to  "A  Little  Princess." 

Of  Mrs.  Burnett's  other  stories,  I  would  recommend  her, 
"Racketty-Packetty  House",  "The  Cosy  Lion",  and  "The 
Lost  Prince." 


THE  LITTLE  PRINCESS 

A  PLAY  FOR  CHILDREN  AND  GROWN-UP  CHILDREN 
IN  THREE  ACTS 


BY  MRS.  FRANCES  HODGSON  BURNETT 


Characters 
SARA. 

MlSS   MlNCHIN. 

BECKY. 

LOTTIE. 

LAVINIA. 

JANET., 

NORA. 

JESSIE. 

MAZIE. 

LILLY. 

DONALD. 

ERMENGARDE. 

AMELIA. 

MRS.  CARMICHAEL. 

RAM  DASS. 

BARROW. 

CARRISFORD. 

JAMES  [Servant]. 

EMMA. 

BLANCHE. 

NED. 


COPYRIGHT,  1911,  BY  MRS.  FRANCES  HODGSON  BURNBTT 
All  rights  reserved 

All  acting  rights,  both  professional  and  amateur,  are  reserved.  Performances  forbidden 
and  right  of  representation  reserved.  Applications  for  the  right  of  performing  this  piece 
must  be  made  to  Samuel  French.  28  West  38th  St.,  New  York. 

Reprinted  by  permission  of  and  by  special  arrangement  with  Mrs.  Frances  Hodgson 
Burnett  and  Samuel  French. 


THE  LITTLE  PRINCESS 
ACT  I 

SCENE.  A  large  schoolroom  at  Miss  Minchin's  boarding- 
school.  Central  window  with  view  of  snow  street.  Fireplace  with 
fire  lighted.  On  the  walls  four  bracket-lamps  and  four  maps.  A 
green  carpet.  In  front  window  a  platform  on  which  there  is  a 
blackboard  easel.  The  room  contains  a  large  table,  a  sofa  above 
fireplace,  a  piano  with  bench  behind  it,  and  several  chairs.  Lace 
curtains  behind  central  window  curtains  for  Ermengarde. 

At  the  rise  of  curtain:    Jessie  at  piano;  extra  Children,  Lilly 
and  others  in  ring.    Lavinia  and  one  of  the  girls  sitting.    Amelia 
up  stage.    Jessie  plays  a  waltz.    Children  dance,  singing  "One, 
Two,  Three,  Four." 
CHILDREN  (singing). 
One,  two,  three,  four. 
[All  around  the  other  way.    Change  dance. 
One,  two,  three,  four. 
[Repeat. 

AMELIA  (breaking  in  upon  the  noise).  Stop,  stop,  children;  do 
stop.  I  only  wanted  to  try  the  music  before  the  company 
came.  (Children  stop  and  get  into  lines)  Let  me  look  at 
you  all.  (Lavinia  crossing)  Don't  poke  your  head  forward. 
Please  turn  out  your  toes.  (Lilly  has  crossed  to  right)  Lilly, 
your  sash  is  untied.  Let  me  tie  it  for  you.  (Does  so)  You 

know  Miss  Minchin 

LAVINIA.    Huh!  Huh! 

AMELIA.  I  will  be  very  angry  if  there  is  any  rude  or  unlady- 
like conduct  this  afternoon.  The  lady  and  gentleman  who 
live  across  the  street  in  number  46  are  coming  in  to  see  you. 
They  have  a  very  large  family  —  nearly  all  old  enough  to 


10  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

go  to  a  genteel  school.    That's  why  dear  Sara  is  giving  you 

this  party. 

LAVINIA.    Dear  Sara     .     .     .    huh ! 

AMELIA.    Now,  Lavinia,  what  do  you  mean  by  that? 
LAVINIA.    Oh,  nothing,  Miss  Amelia. 

ERMENGARDE.    Oh,  she  did  it  because  she's  jealous  of  Sara. 
LAVINIA.    I  didn't. 

ERMENGARDE.     You  did. 

LAVINIA.    I  didn't. 

ERMENGARDE.     Did 

LAVINIA.    Didn't ! 

[This  ad  lib.  three  times. 

ERMENGARDE.     Did. 

AMELIA  (coming  between  them).  Stop.  I  never  saw  such  rude 
conduct.  (Lavinia  laughs)  You  are  a  spiteful  child,  Lavinia. 
I  believe  you  are  jealous.  It's  very  nice  indeed  of  Sara  to 
give  you  all  this  party  on  her  birthday.  It's  not  every  child 
who  cares  about  her  schoolfellows.  And  she  has  not  looked 
at  one  of  her  beautiful  presents  yet  because  she  wanted  you 
to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  them  unpacked. 
[Children  crowd  around  her. 

CHILDREN-   Ah     .     .     .     !    [Dance  around  her. 

ERMENGARDE.    Are  they  going  to  be  unpacked  here? 

CHILDREN.    Yes,  yes,  yes! 

LAVINIA  (sarcastically).    Did  her  papa  sefcd  them  all  from  India, 
Miss  Amelia? 

LILLY.    Did  he? 

AMELIA  (grandly).    Most  of  them  came  from  Paris. 

CHILDREN.    Oh     .     .     .     !    Paris. 

AMELIA.    There  is  a  doll  that  was  ordered  months  ago. 

CHILDREN.    Oh,  a  doll! 

AMELIA.    And  a  whole  trunk  full  of  things  like  a  real  young 
lady. 

LOTTIE  (jumping  up  and  down).     Are  we  going  to  see  them 
right  this  minute? 

AMELIA.     Miss  Minchin  said  they  might  be  brought  in  after 
you  had  tried  the  new  waltz. 


The  Little  Princess  11 

LOTTIE.     Tra-la-la!    [Dancing. 

AMELIA.  I  am  going  to  tell  her  you  have  finished.  (Laughter) 
Now  do  be  nice  and  quiet  when  I  leave  you.  (Ermengarde 
swings  Lottie  around]  Lottie,  don't  rumple  your  new  sash. 
One  of  you  big  girls  must  look  after  her.  (Lottie  picks  up  pillow 
from  sofa,  ready  to  throw. af Lavinia)  Now  do  (at  door)  be  quiet. 
[Exit.  As  Amelia  exits,  Ermengarde  runs  up  to  door.  Chil- 
dren, except  Lavinia,  form  picture  on  platform. 

ERMENGARDE.     It's  all  right,  girls.    She's  gone. 

[Lottie  throws  pillow  at  Lavinia  and  runs,  with  Lavinia  in  pur- 
suit.   Ermengarde  runs  to  Lottie's  rescue. 

LOTTIE  (as  Lavinia  catches  her  and  drags  her).  Ermy,  Ermy. 
Oh!  Oh!  [Ermengarde  catches  Lottie's  other  hand  and  drags 
her  away  from  Lavinia;  other  Children  watch. 

CHILDREN.     NOW. 

[Jessie  playing  piano,  Children  begin  to  do  "ring  around" 

again,  laughing  and  chattering  the  while. 
LAVINIA.   I  wish  you  children  wouldn't  make  so  much  noise. 

Jessie,  stop  playing  that  silly  polka. 
CHILDREN.   No,  no,  go  on,  Jessie,  go  on.     [Lottie  runs  over  and 

pushes  Lavinia  twice;  falls  the  second  time  —  hurts  her  knee. 
LOTTIE.   Oh!  Ah!  Oh! 
LAVINIA.   I  never  saw  such  rough  things.     I  wish  Miss  Min- 

chin  would  come  in  and  qatch  you. 
LOTTIE.   I  guess  it's  all  right. 
BLANCHE.   You  girls  think  you  are  so  big.    You  always  try  to 

stop  the  fun.     Jessie,  go  on.     (Piano  begins  again)     We're 

not  going  to  stop,  just  because  you  want  to  talk. 
ERMENGARDE.   I'm  going  to  be  the  leader. 

[Jessie  stops  playing  suddenly. 
CHILDREN.  What's  the  matter? 
JESSIE.  Oh,  girls!  Ermengarde  has  thrown  all  the  music  into 

the  piano. 

[Girls  crowd  around  her,  and  take  music  out  of  piano.  Ermengarde 

laughing. 
LAVINIA.   You'd  stop  fast  enough  if  it  was  the  Princess  Sara 

talking. 


12  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

ERMENGARDE.  Oh,  we  all  like  Sara.  We're  not  jealous  of  her. 
CHILDREN.  [Exclamations  of  assent;  playing  "London  Bridge." 
LAVINIA.  Oh,  of  course  you  like  Sara,  just  because  she's  the 

rich  girl  of  the  school  and  the  show  pupil.    There's  nothing 

so  very  grand  in  having  a  father  who  lives  in  India,  even  if 

he  is  in  the  army. 

[Jessie  plays. 
LOTTIE.   At  any  rate  he's  killed  tigers,  and  he  sends  Sara  the 

most  beautiful  presents!    [Pulls  Lavinia's  hair. 
LILLY.   And  he's  told  Miss  Minchin  that  she  can  have  anything 

she  wants. 
ERMENGARDE.   She's  cleverer  than  any  of  us.    My  father  says 

he'd  give  thousands  of  pounds  if  I  were  as  clever  as  she  is. 

She  actually  likes  to  read  books.    I  can't  bear  them. 
LAVINIA  (contemptuously).   We  all  know  that. 
ERMENGARDE.   Well,  if  I  am  the  stupidest  girl  in  the  school, 

Sara's  the  nicest.     You  don't  see  Sara  walking  with  her 

friends  and  saying  spiteful  things. 

[Bell  rings  off.    Children  run  into  straight  lines.    Ermengarde 

to  blackboard  and  draws  a  cat.    Lavinia  up  stage. 
CHILDREN.   Miss  Minchin's  coming,  Miss  Minchin's  coming! 
LAVINIA.   Yes,  and  leading  Sara  by  the  hand  as  if  she  were  a 

"Little  Princess." 
ERMENGARDE  (pointing  to  board).   That  old  cat,  Miss  Minchin. 

[Children  laugh.    Enter  Miss  Minchin,  leading  Sara,  followed 

by  James,  William,  Emma,  and  Becky.    Servants  carry  presents. 
MISS  MINCHIN  (sweeping  grandly  down).    Silence,  young  ladies 

.  .  .  James,  place  the  box  (doll)  on  the  table  and  remove 

the  lid.    William,  place  yours  there.     (Trunk)    Emma,  put 

yours  on  the  table.     (Nine  books)    Becky,  put  yours  on  the 

floor.     (Becky  looks  at  the  Children)     Becky,  it  is  not  your 

place  to  look  at  the  young  ladies.     You  forget  yourself. 

(Waving  servants  off)    Now  you  may  leave  us. 

[Exeunt  servants.     Becky  starts  to  follow  them.     Sara  stops 

her. 

SARA.   Ah,  please,  Miss  Minchin,  mayn't  Becky  stay? 
MISS  MINCHIN.   Becky  —  my  dearest  Sara 


The  Little  Princess  13 

SARA.  I  want  her  because  I'm  sure  she  would  so  like  to  see  the 
doll.  She's  a  little  girl,  too,  you  know. 

MISS  MINCHIN  (amazed).  My  dear  Sara  —  Becky  is  the  scul- 
lery-maid. Scullery-maids  are  not  little  girls  —  at  least 
they  ought  not  to  be. 

SARA.   But  Becky  is,  you  know. 

MISS  MINCHIN.   I'm  sorry  to  hear  it. 

SARA.  But  I  don't  believe  she  can  help  it.  And  I  know  she 
would  enjoy  herself  so.  (Crosses  to  Miss  Minchin)  Please 
let  her  stay  —  because  it's  my  birthday.  [Becky  backs  into 
the  corner  in  mingled  terror  and  delight. 

MISS  MINCHIN  (dignified).  Well,  as  you  ask  it  as  a  birthday 
favour  —  she  may  stay. 

SARA.   Thank  you. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  Rebecca,  thank  Miss  Sara  for  her  great  kind- 
ness. 

BECKY  (comes  forward,  making  little  charity  curtseys,  words  tum- 
bling over  each  other).  Oh,  if  you  please,  Miss  —  thank  you, 
Miss.  I  am  that  grateful,  Miss.  I  did  want  to  see  the  doll, 
Miss  —  that  —  that  bad.  I  thank  you,  Miss.  (Sara  nods 
happily  to  Becky,  who  bobs  to  Miss  Minchin)  And  thank 
you,  Ma'am,  for  letting  me  take  the  liberty. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  Go  stand  over  there.  (Pointing  grandly  to  cor- 
ner) Not  too  near  the  young  ladies.  (Becky  backs  into  cor- 
ner, rolls  down  sleeves,  etc.)  Now,  young  ladies,  I  have  a  few 
words  to  say  to  you.  (Sweeping  grandly  up  to  platform)  You 
are  aware,  young  ladies,  that  dear  Sara  is  thirteen  years  old 
to-day. 

CHILDREN.   Yes,  Miss  Minchin. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  There  are  a  few  of  you  here  who  have  also 
been  thirteen  years  old,  but  Sara's  birthdays  are  different 
from  most  little  girls'  birthdays. 

CHILDREN.   Yes,  Miss  Minchin. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  When  she  is  older  she  will  be  heiress  to  a  large 
fortune  which  it  will  be  her  duty  to  spend  in  a  meritorious 
manner. 

ERMENGARDE.   No,  Miss  Minchin  —  I  mean  yes,  Miss  Minchin. 


A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

MINCHIN.  When  her  papa,  Captain  Crewe,  brought  her 
from  India  and  gave  her  into  my  care,  he  said  to  me,  in  a 
jesting  manner,  "I'm  afraid  she  will  be  very  rich,  Miss  Min- 
chin." 

CHILDREN.  Oh !  —  Ah !  —  Oh ! 

MISS  MINCHIN.  My  reply  was,  "Her  education  at  my  seminary, 
Captain  Crewe,  shall  be  such  as  will  fit  her  to  adorn  the 
largest  fortune."  (Lottie  sniffs  loudly)  Lottie,  do  not  sniff. 
Use  your  pocket-handkerchief.  (Ermengarde  wipes  Lottie's 
nose.  Lottie  sniffs  again.  Miss  Minchin  coughs  Lottie  down) 
Sara  has  become  my  most  accomplished  pupil.  Her  French 
and  her  dancing  are  a  credit  to  the  seminary.  Her  man- 
ners —  which  have  caused  you  all  to  call  her  Princess  Sara 
—  are  perfect.  Her  amiability  she  exhibits  by  giving  you 
this  party.  I  hope  you  appreciate  her  generosity.  I  wish 
you  to  express  your  appreciation  by  saying  aloud,  all  to- 
gether, "Thank  you,  Sara." 

ALL.   Thank  you,  Sara. 

ERMENGARDE  (alone) .   Thank  you,  Sara. 

BECKY.   I  thank  you,  Miss. 

SARA.   I  thank  you  for  coming  to  my  party.    And  you.     [Re- 
tires. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  Very  pretty  indeed,  Sara.  That  is  what  a  real 
princess  does  when  the  populace  applauds.  I  have  one  thing 
more  to  say.  The  visitors  coming  are  the  father  and  mother 
of  a  large  family.  I  wish  you  to  conduct  yourselves  in  such 
a  manner  as  will  cause  them  to  observe  that  elegance  of  de- 
portment can  be  acquired  at  Miss  Minchin's  seminary.  (Er- 
,  mengarde  poses  in  corner)  I  will  now  go  back  to  the  draw- 
ing-room until  they  arrive.  Sara,  you  may  show  your  pres- 
ents. [Exits.  Ermengarde  imitates  her  walk. 

ERMENGARDE.     Sara,  you  may  show  your  presents ! 

AMELIA  (coming  out  from  behind).    Ermengarde 

ERMENGARDE.   Oh!  Miss (Amelia  crosses  to  door)  Amelia, 

please  forgive  me  —  I  did  —  didn't  

[Exit  Amelia.     Children  laugh  and  flock  around  the  boxes  on 
table,  etc. 


The  Little  Princess  15 

JL 

SARA  (getting  chair  from  piano).  She  caught  you  that  time, 
Ermy.  (Getting  on  chair  behind  table)  Which  shall  we  look 
at  first?  (Picking  up  books)  These  are  books,  I  know.  [Try- 
ing to  untie  them. 

CHILDREN.   Oh  —  books Oh !    [Disgusted. 

ERMENGARDE  (aghast).  Does  your  papa  send  you  books  for  a 
birthday  present?  He's  as  bad  as  mine.  Don't  open  them, 
Sara. 

SARA  (laughing).  But  I  like  them  the  best  —  never  mind 
though.  This  is  the  doll.  (Uncovering  long  wooden  box)  I'll 
open  that  first.  [Stands  doll  upon  its  feet.  Doll  is  on  a  metal 
stand. 

CHILDREN.   Oh!— Ah!  — Oh! 

LILLY.  Isn't  she  a  beauty?  [Becky  gets  stool  from  above  door 
and  stands  on  it  to  see  doll. 

JESSIE.   She's  almost  as  big  as  Lottie. 

LOTTIE  (dancing  down).   Tra-la-la. 

LILLY.   She's  dressed  for  the  theater.     See  her  magnificent 
opera-cloak. 
[Lavinia  does  not  get  on  floor. 

ERMENGARDE.   She  has  an  opera-glass  in  her  hand. 

SARA.  So  she  has.  (Getting  down)  Here's  her  trunk.  Let  us 
open  that  and  look  at  her  things;  Ermy,  you  open  the  other. 
(Takes  trunk  with  Jessie  down  stage;  opens  it.  Ermy  takes 
other  one  with  help  of  Jessie  and  opens  it  too.  Children  crowd 
around  trunks,  sit  on  floor,  looking  at  the  clothes.  Becky  looks 
on  from  behind)  Here  is  the  key. 

CHILDREN.   Oh! 

SARA.  This  is  full  of  lace  collars  and  silk  stockings  and  hand- 
kerchiefs. Here's  a  jewel-case  with  a  necklace  and  a  tiara 
of  diamonds.  Put  them  on  her,  Lilly.  All  of  her  under- 
clothes. Ah,  look.  [Showing. 

ERMENGARDE.  Here's  a  velvet  coat  trimmed  with  chinchilla,  and 
one  lined  with  ermine,  and  muffs.  Oh,  what  darling  dresses! 
A  pale  cloth,  trimmed  with  sable,  and  a  long  coat.  (Lottie 
takes  coat  and  puts  it  on)  A  pink,  covered  with  white  little 
buttons,  and  a  white  tulle  dress,  and  dresses,  dresses,  dresses ! 


It)  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

SARA.  And  here  are  hats,  and  hats,  and  hats.  Becky,  can  you 
see?  [Rises. 

BECKY.  Oh,  yes,  Miss,  and  it's  like  'eaven.  [Falls  of  stool 
backwards. 

SARA  (rises).  She  is  a  lovely  doll.  (Looking  at  doll)  Suppose 
she  understands  human  talk,  and  feels  proud  of  being  ad- 
mired. 

LAVINIA.   You  are  always  supposing  things,  Sara. 

SARA.  I  know  I  am  —  I  like  it.  There's  nothing  so  nice  as 
supposing.  It's  almost  like  being  a  fairy.  If  you  suppose 
anything  hard  enough,  it  seems  as  if  it  were  real.  Have 
you  never  done  it? 

LAVINIA  (contemptuously) .   No  —  of  course  not  —  it's  ridiculous. 

SARA.  Is  it?  Well,  it  makes  you  happy  at  any  rate.  (Lavinia 
turns  away;  changing  her  tone)  Suppose  we  finish  looking  at 
the  doll's  things  when  we  have  more  time.  Becky  will  put 
them  back  in  the  trunk.  [Lottie  goes  up  to  doll,  to  see  tiara. 

BECKY  (comes  forward  quickly  —  shyly).  Me,  Miss?  Yes,  Miss. 
Thank  you,  Miss,  for  letting  me  touch  them.  (Down  on 
knees,  wiping  hands)  Oh  —  my  —  they  are  beautiful. 

LAVINIA  (at  table,  catching  Lottie  touching  doll).  Get  down  this 
minute.  That's  not  for  babies  to  touch.  [  Takes  her. 

LOTTIE  (crying) .   I'm  not  a  baby — I'm  not  —  Sar-a,  Sar-a — oh ! 

JESSIE.   There  now,  you've  made  her  cry,  —  the  spoiled  thing. 

SARA  (runs  to  Lottie;  kneeling).  Now,  Lottie.  (Puts  her  on 
side)  Lottie,  dear,  you  mustn't  cry. 

LOTTIE  (howling).  I  don't  want  to  stay  in  a  nasty  school  with 
nasty  girls. 

SARA  (to  Lavinia  and  Jessie).  You  ought  not  to  have  scolded 
her.  She's  such  a  little  thing.  And  you  know  she's  only  at 
boarding-school  because  she  hasn't  any  mother.  [Children 
sympathetically.  Jessie  to  door. 

LOTTIE  (wailing).   I  haven't  any  mamma. 

JESSIE.  If  she  doesn't  stop,  Miss  Minchin  will  hear  her.  [Er- 
mengarde  gets  tiara  from  doll. 

LILLY.  And  she'll  be  so  cross  that  she  may  stop  the  party.  Do 
stop,  Lottie  darling.  I'll  give  you  a  penny. 


The  Little  Princess 

LOTTIE.   Don't  want  your  old  \ 

KNGARDE.   Yes,-do  stop,  and  I'll  give  you  anything.    [Offer- 
ing box. 

LOTTIE.   She  called  me  a  baby.    [Crying. 

SARA  (petting  her).  But  you  will  be  a  baby  if  you  cry,  Lottie, 
pet.  There,  there. 

LOTTIE.   I  haven't  any  mamma. 

SARA  (cheerfully).  Yes,  you  have,  darling.  Don't  you  know  we 
said  that  Sara'd  be  your  mamma.  Don't  you  want  Sara  to 
be  your  mamma?  (Lottie  stops  crying)  See.  (Rising  and 
giving  doll  to  Lottie)  I'll  lend  you  my  doll  to  hold  while  I 
tell  you  that  story  I  promised  you. 

LILLY.   Oh,  do  tell  us  a  story,  Sara.    [Puts  doll  on  chair. 

JESSIE.   Oh,  yes,  do. 

CHILDREN.   Oh! 

SARA.  I  may  not  have  time  to  finish  it  before  the  company 
comes  —  but  I'll  tell  you  the  end  some  other  time.  [Lottie 
takes  doll  to  chair. 

LAVINIA.  That's  always  the  way,  Princess  Sara.  (Passionately) 
Nasty  little  spoilt  beast.  I  should  like  to  slap  her. 

SARA  (firing  up).  I  should  like  to  slap  you  too.  But  I  don't 
want  to  slap  you  —  at  least  I  both  want  to  slap  you  and 
should  like  to  slap  you. 

CHILDREN  (in  group,  interested  in  fight).   Oh,  Oh! 

SARA.  We  are  not  little  gutter  children.  We  are  old  enough 
to  know  better. 

LAVINIA.  Oh,  we  are  princesses,  I  believe  —  or  at  least  one  of 
us  is  —  Jessie  told  me  you  often  pretended  to  yourself  that 
you  were  a  princess. 

SARA  (getting  control  of  herself).  It's  true.  Sometimes  I  do  pre- 
tend I'm  a  princess.  I  pretend  I  am  a  princess  so  that  I  can 
try  to  behave  like  one. 

CHILDREN.   Ah! 

ERMENGARDE.   You  are  queer,  Sara,  but  you're  nice.    [Hugs  her. 

SARA.  I  know  I'm  queer,  and  I  try  to  be  nice.  Shall  I  begin 
the  story? 

CHILDREN  (ad  lib.).   Story.    Oh,  oh!    Yes,  yes,  begin,  Sara,  do. 


\ 

18  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

SARA.  I'm  going  to  turn  all  the  lights  out.  It's  always  so 
much  nicer  to  tell  a  story  by  firelight. 

[  Turns  out  brackets  with  switch  above  fireplace;  gets  on  sofa  for 
story.  All  the  children  sit,  except  Lavinia,  who  stands  near 
the  piano.  Children  on  the  floor  in  front  of  the  sofa.  Ermen- 
garde  goes  up  to  the  window  and  pulls  curtains  apart  and 
makes  up  in  them  for  ghost. 

LILLY.   It's  such  fun  to  sit  in  the  dark. 

SARA.   Once  upon  a  time 

ERMENGARDE  (from  behind  curtain).   Woo-o-oo 

JESSIE.   What 's  that? 

SARA.   It's  nothing  but  the  wind.    Once  upon  a  time 

ERMENGARDE  (coming  down  in  curtains).  Whoo-oo-oo-oopee 

[Frightens  Children.  Sara  turns  on  lights.  Children  scream 
and  get  up;  fall  on  Ermengarde  and  take  curtain  of  her. 
Laugh. 

CHILDREN.   Oh,  it's  Ermengarde. 

LILLY.   Begin  again,  Sara.    [Sara  turns  out  lights. 

ALL.   Yes. 

SARA  (all  seated  as  before,  —  Sara  on  sofa).   Once  upon  a  time 
—  long  ago  —  there  lived  on  the  edge  of  a  deep,  deep  forest 
a  little  girl  and  her  grandmother. 

LILLY.   Was  she  pretty? 

SARA.  She  was  so  fair  and  sweet  that  people  called  her  Snow- 
flower.  She  had  no  relations  in  the  world  but  her  old  grand- 
mother, Dame  Frostyface. 

JESSIE.   Was  she  a  nice  old  woman? 

SARA.  She  was  always  nice  to  Snowflower.  They  lived  to- 
gether in  a  little  cottage  thatched  with  reeds.  Tall  trees 
sheltered  it,  daisies  grew  thick  about  the  door,  and  swallows 
built  in  the  eaves. 

CHILDREN.   Oh,  Lottie! 

LILLY.   What  a  nice  place ! 

SARA.  One  sunny  morning  Dame  Frostyface  said,  "My  child, 
I  am  going  a  long  journey,  and  I  cannot  take  you  with 
me,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  to  do  when  you  feel  lonely. 
You  know  that  carved  oak  chair  I  sit  in  by  the  fire.  Well, 


The  Little  Princess  19 

lay  your  head  on  the  velvet  cushions  and  say,  'Chair  of  my 
grandmother,  tell  me  a  story,'  and  it  will  tell  you  one." 

CHILDREN.   Oh ! 

SARA.  "And  if  you  want  to  travel  anywhere,  just  seat  your- 
self in  it,  and  say,  'Chair  of  my  grandmother,  take  me 
where  I  want  to  go/" 

ERMENCARDE.   Oh,  I  wish  I  had  a  chair  like  that. 

LOTTIE.  I  Oh,  go  on,  Sara. 

CHILDREN.     Do  gO  On. 
ERMENGARDE.     And  SO 

LOTTIE.   And  so 

SARA.  And  so  Dame  Frostyface  went  away.  And  every  day 
Snowflower  baked  herself  a  barleycake,  and  every  night  the 
chair  told  her  a  beautiful  new  story. 

ERMENGARDE.  If  it  had  been  my  chair,  I  should  have  told  it 
to  take  me  to  the  King's  Palace. 

SARA.  That  is  what  happened  —  but  listen.  The  time  passed 
on,  but  Dame  Frostyface  did  not  come  back  for  such  a 
long  time  that  Snowflower  thought  she  would  go  and 
find  her. 

LOTTIE.    Did  she  find  her? 

SARA.  Wait  and  listen.  One  day  she  jumped  into  the  chair 
and  said,  "Chair  of  my  grandmother,  take  m«j  the  way  she 
went."  And  the  chair  gave  a  creak  and  began  to  move  out 
of  the  cottage  and  into  the  forest  where  all  the  birds  were 
singing. 

ERMENGARDE.   How  I  wish  I  could  have  gone  with  her. 

SARA.  And  the  chair  went  on,  and  on,  and  on  —  like  a  coach 
and  six. 

LOTTIE.   How  far  did  it  go? 

SARA.  It  traveled  through  the  forest  and  through  the  ferns, 
and  over  the  velvet  moss  —  it  traveled  one  day,  and  two 
days,  and  three  days  —  and  on  the  fourth  day 

LILLY.   What  did  it  do? 

SARA  (slowly).  It  came  to  an  open  place  in  the  forest  where  a 
hundred  workmen  were  felling  trees  and  a  hundred  wagons 
were  carrying  them  away  to  the  King's  Palace. 


20  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

ERMENGARDE.   Was  the  King  giving  a  ball? 

SARA.  He  was  giving  seven  of  them.  Seven  days*  feasting  to 
celebrate  the  birthday  of  his  daughter,  the  Princess  Greeda- 
lend. 

LOTTIE.   Did  he  invite  Snowflower? 

SARA.  Listen.  The  chair  marched  up  to  the  palace,  and  all 
the  people  ran  after  it.  And  the  King  heard  of  it,  and  the 
lords  and  ladies  crowded  to  see  it,  and  when  the  Princess 
heard  it  was  a  chair  that  could  tell  stories  she  cried  until  the 
King  sent  an  order  to  the  little  girl  to  come  and  make  it 
tell  her  one. 

LOTTIE.   Did  she  go  in? 

LILLY.   Oh,  how  lovely. 

SARA.  The  chair  marched  in  a  grave  and  courtly  manner  up 
the  grand  staircase  and  into  the  palace  hall.  The  King  sat 
on  an  ivory  throne  in  a  robe  of  purple  velvet,  stiff  with  flow- 
ers of  gold.  The  Queen  sat  on  his  right  hand  in  a  mantle 
clasped  with  pearls,  and  the  Princess  wore  a  robe  of  gold 
sewn  with  diamonds. 

LILLY.   Oh,  what  splendid  clothes! 

SARA^,  But  Snowflower  had  little  bare  feet,  and  nothing  but  a 
ctean,  coarse  linen  dress.  She  got  off  the  chair  and  made  a 
curtsey  to  the  grand  company.  Then  she  laid  her  head  on 
the  cushion,  and  said,  "  Chair  of  my  grandmother,  tell  me  a 
story,"  and  a  clear,  silvery  voice  came  out  from  the  old 
velvet  cushion,  and  said,  "Listen  to  the  story  of  the  Christ- 
mas Cuckoo."  [Door-bell  peals. 

ALL  (jumping  up  from  floor  and  sofa,  forming  two  lines,  in  readi- 
ness for  the  visitors).   Miss  Minchin  is  coming  —  Miss  Min- 
chin  is  coming. 
[Enter  Miss  Minchin,  followed  by  Amelia.    Becky  under  table. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  What  are  you  naughty  children  doing  in  the 
dark?  Amelia,  turn  up  the  lights  immediately.  (She  does  so 
with  switch  above  fireplace)  How  dare  you? 

SARA.  I  beg  pardon,  Miss  Minchin.  It  was  all  my  fault.  I 
was  telling  them  a  story,  and  I  like  to  tell  them  in  the  fire- 
light. 


The  Little  Princess  21 

MISS  MINCHIN  (changing).  Oh,  it  was  you,  Sara.  That  is  a 
different  matter.  I  can  always  trust  you. 

LAVINIA  (aside).  Yes,  of  course,  if  it's  the  Princess  Sara,  it's  a 
different  matter. 

Miss  MINCHIN  (speaking  off  to  Mrs.  Carmichael).  Won't  you 
come  in,  Mrs.  Carmichael? 

[Enter  Mrs.  Carmichael,  followed  by  Donald,  Mazie,  Nora,  and 
Janet  in  a  line.  Donald  has  mother's  skirt  in  his. hand,  playing 
horse;  three  children  are  dressed  for  the  street.  They  follow 
their  mother  to  sofa  and  sit  down. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  She  is  (referring  to  Sara)  such  a  clever  child. 
Such  an  imagination.  She  amuses  the  children  by  the  hour 
with  her  wonderful  story-telling. 

MRS.  CARMICHAEL.  She  has  a  clever  little  face.  [Ermengarde 
offers  to  make  friends  with  Donald,  who  fights  her  into  corner. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  Won't  you  sit  here,  Mrs.  Carmichael?  [Indi- 
cating sofa. 

MRS.  CARMICHAEL.  I  hope  I  won't  disturb  the  dancing  if  I  am 
obliged  to  leave  you  suddenly. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  You  will  not  disturb  us,  although  we  shall,  of 
course,  be  very  sorry. 

MRS.  CARMICHAEL.  Mr.  Carmichael  has  just  had  bad  news 
from  an  important  client  in  India.  The  poor  man  has  sud- 
denly lost  all  his  money  and  is  on  his  way  to  England,  very 
ill  indeed. 

MISS  MINCHIN.   How  distressing! 

MRS.  CARMICHAEL.  Mr.  Carmichael  may  be  called  away  at 
any  moment.  He  said  he  would  send  a  servant  for  me  if  he 
received  a  summons  to  go.  If  it  comes  I  shall  be  obliged  to 
run  away  at  once.  The  children  wanted  so  much  to  see  the 
dancing  that  I  did  not  like  to  disappoint  them. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  Sara,  my  dear,  come  here.  (Aside  to  Mrs.  Car- 
michael) Her  mother  died  when  she  was  born.  Her  father 
is  a  most  distinguished  young  officer  —  very  rich,  fortu- 
nately. (To  Sara)  Shake  hands  with  Mrs.  Carmichael. 
(Sara  does  so.  To  Mrs.  Carmichael)  Sara  is  thirteen  years 
old  to-day,  Mrs.  Carmichael,  and  is  giving  a  party  to  her 


22  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

schoolfellows.  She  is  always  doing  things  to  give  her  friends 
pleasure. 

MRS.  CARMICHAEL  (motherly  woman,  pats  Sara's  hand).  She  looks 
like  a  kind  little  girl.  (Lottie  brings  doll  over  to  sofa  and  shows 
it  to  the  Carmichael  children)  I'm  sure  my  children  would 
like  to  hear  her  tell  stories.  They  love  stories,  and  some 
day  you  must  come  and  tell  them  one.  (Turns  and  sees 
doll)  Oh,  what  a  splendid  doll!  Is  it  yours? 

MISS  MINCHIN  (grandly).  Her  papa  ordered  it  in  Paris.  Its 
wardrobe  was  made  by  a  fashionable  dressmaker.  Nothing 
is  too  superb  for  the  child. 

LOTTIE  (to  Sara).   Sara,  may  that  little  boy  hold  your  doll? 

SARA.  Yes,  dear.  [Lottie  takes  doll  to  Donald,  who  boxes  it  away 
from  him,  boy  fashion. 

LOTTIE  (taking  doll  out  of  harm's  way).  He's  one  of  the  large 
family  across  the  street  —  the  ones  you  make  up  stories 
about. 

MRS.  CARMICHAEL  (good-naturedly) .  Do  you  make  up  stories 
about  us? 

SARA.  I  hope  you  won't  mind.  I  can  see  your  house  out  of 
my  window,  and  there  are  so  many  of  you,  and  you  all  look 
so  happy  together,  that  I  like  to  pretend  I  know  you  all.  I 
suppose  things  about  you. 

LILLY  (the  Children  have  been  standing  in  two  lines  listening  to 
all  this).  She  has  made  up  names  for  all  of  you. 

MRS.  CARMICHAEL.   Has  she?    What  are  they? 

SARA.  They  are  only  pretended  names  —  perhaps  you'll  think 
they're  silly. 

MRS.  CARMICHAEL.   No,  I  shall  not.    What  do  you  call  us? 

LOTTIE  (solemnly).   You  are  Mrs.  and  Mister  Mont-mor-ency. 

MRS.  CARMICHAEL  (laughing).  What  a  grand  name!  And  what 
do  you  call  the  children? 

SARA  (shy  but  smiling).  The  little  boy  in  the  lace  cap  is  Ethel- 
bert  Beaucham  Montmorency  —  and  the  second  baby  is 
Violette  Cholmondeley  Montmorency,  and  the  little  boy  with 
the  fat  brown  legs  and  socks  is  Sidney  Cecil  Vivienne  Mont- 
morency. 


The  Little  Princess  23 

LOTTIE  (interrupting  and  dancing).  Then  there's  Lillian  Evange- 
line  —  and  Guy  Clarence  —  and  Maude  —  Marion  —  and 
Veronia  Eustacia  —  and  Claude  Audrey  Harold  Hector. 
[Laughs  and  goes  into  corner. 

MRS.  CARMICHAEL.   You  romantic  little  thing! 

SARA  (apologetically).  I  shouldn't  have  supposed  so  much  about 
you  if  you  hadn't  all  looked  so  happy  together.  My  papa  is 
a  soldier  in  India,  you  know,  and  my  mamma  died  when  I 
was  a  baby.  So  I  like  to  look  at  children  who  have  mammas 
and  papas. 

MRS.  CARMICHAEL  (kissing  Sara).  You  poor  little  dear,  —  Miss 
Minchin  must  let  you  come  and  have  tea  with  us. 

MISS  MINCHIN.   Certainly,  certainly.     Sara  will  be  delighted. 
Now,  young  ladies,  you  may  begin  the  entertainment  Sara 
has  prepared  for  Mrs.  Carmichael. 
[Enter  Maid. 

MAID.  A  gentleman  would  like  to  see  you,  Ma'am.  He  says 
he  comes  from  Messrs.  Barrow  &  Skipworth. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  The  lawyers?  (Annoyed)  What  can  he  want? 
I  cannot  be  disturbed  at  present.  Ask  him  to  wait. 

MAID.  And  if  you  please,  Ma'am,  a  note  for  Mrs.  Carmichael. 
[Delivers  same  to  Mrs.  Carmichael,  who  rises  to  receive  it,  and 
goes  down  stage.  Exit  Maid. 

MRS.  CARMICHAEL.   A  note  for  me?    [Takes  it.    Opens  note. 

MISS  MINCHIN.   Not  bad  news,  I  hope? 

MRS.  CARMICHAEL.  Very  bad,  I  am  afraid.  My  husband's  cli- 
ent, poor  Mr.  Carrisford,  has  just  landed,  dangerously  ill. 
Much  worse.  Mr.  Carmichael  wants  me  to  go  and  see  him 
at  once.  I  am  so  sorry  to  run  away  like  this.  It  has  all 
been  so  charming.  Thank  you  for  asking  us.  Come,  chil- 
dren. Say  good  afternoon.  Papa  needs  us.  (Shaking  hands 
with  Miss  Minchin)  Your  school  is  delightful. 
[Exit  Mrs.  Carmichael  and  Children  in  same  order  as  entrance, 
Donald  driving  his  mother  as  before. 

DONALD.    Geddap  —  whoa  —  go  along. 

ALL.   Good-by.    Good  afternoon,  etc. 

MISS  AMELIA.   What  a  pity  she  was  obliged  to  leave  so  soon. 


24  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

MISS  MINCHIN.   She  was  evidently  very  much  pleased. 

MAID  (entering).  Will  you  see  the  gentleman  from  Messrs.  Bar- 
row &  Skip  worth,  Ma'am? 

MISS  AMELIA  (meekly).  The  children's  refreshments  are  laid  in 
your  parlour,  sister.  Could  you  see  him  in  here  while  the 
children  have  their  cake  and  sherry  and  negus? 

MISS  MINCHIN.  Yes.  (To  Children)  Now,  young  ladies,  you 
must  go  and  enjoy  the  nice  things  Sara  has  provided  for  you. 
[Children  all  troop  out. 

CHILDREN.   Cake  and  sherry  and  negus. 

MISS  MINCHIN  (to  servant).   Bring  the  gentleman  in  here. 

[Exit  Servant.    Enter  Barrow,  ushered  on  by  Servant.    Barrow 
is  a  middle-aged,  high-class  lawyer,  well  dressed. 

MAID.   Mr.  Barrow,  Ma'am.    [Exit  Maid. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  Good  evening,  sir.  Be  seated.  (Indicating  sofa) 
Of  the  legal  firm  of  Barrow  &  Skipworth,  I  believe? 

BARROW.  Yes,  Barrow,  representing  the  late  Captain  Crewe,  of 
the 

MISS  MINCHIN  (startled).  The  late  Captain  Crewe?  You  don't 
mean  to  say  that  Captain  Crewe  is  — 

BARROW  (sits  on  sofa).   Dead,  Madam,  dead  of  jungle  fever. 

MISS  MINCHIN  (shocked).  It  seems  impossible.  How  shocking! 
How  sudden! 

BARROW.  It  was  sudden.  The  firm  thought  that  you  should 
be  told  at  once,  as  his  child  is  in  your  care. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  Very  right  and  proper.  Poor  Captain  Crewe! 
Poor  little  orphaned  Sara.  (Handkerchief  to  her  eyes)  She 
will  need  my  care  more  than  ever. 

BARROW.   She  will  indeed,  Madam. 

MISS  MINCHIN.   What  do  you  mean? 

BARROW.  That,  as  she  has  apparently  no  relations  to  take  charge 
of  her,  she  is  fortunate  in  having  such  a  friend  as  yourself. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  Most  certainly.  An  heiress  to  so  large  a  for- 
tune —  for  I  believe  it  is  a  very  large  fortune?  (Barrow 
clears  throat  significantly.  Miss  Minchin  takes  him  up  sharply) 
What  do  you  mean?  You  certainly  mean  something.  What 
is  it? 


The  Little  Princess  %5 

BARROW.  She  has  no  fortune,  Madam,  large  or  small.  She  is 
left  without  a  penny. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  Without  a  penny!  It's  impossible.  Captain 
Crewe  was  a  rich  man. 

BARROW.   Ah !    Was,  —  that's  it,  Madam,  he  was. 

MISS  MINCHIN  (leaning  forward  excitedly).  You  don't  mean  he 
has  lost  his  money?  Lost  it? 

BARROW.  Every  penny  of  it.  That  young  man  had  too  much 
money.  He  didn't  know  what  to  do  with  it,  so  he  let  a 
speculating  friend  —  a  very  dear  friend  —  (sarcastically)  play 
ducks  and  drakes  with  it.  The  friend  was  mad  on  the  sub- 
ject of  a  high  diamond  mine  —  put  all  of  his  own  money 
into  it  —  all  of  Captain  Crewe's  —  the  mine  proved  a  failure 
—  the  dear  friend  —  the  very  dear  friend  —  ran  away.  Cap- 
tain Crewe  was  already  stricken  with  fever  when  the  news 
came  —  the  shock  was  too  much  for  him.  He  died  delirious. 
(Rises)  Ruined. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  he  has  left  noth- 
ing? that  Sara  will  have  no  fortune  —  that  the  child  is  a 
beggar  —  that  she's  left  on  my  hands  a  little  pauper  instead 
of  an  heiress? 

BARROW.  She  is  certainly  left  a  beggar  —  and  she  is  certainly 
left  on  your  hands,  Ma'am. 

MISS  MINCHIN  (rising).  It's  monstrous.  She's  in  my  drawing- 
room,  at  this  moment,  dressed  in  a  pink  silk  gown  and  lace 
petticoats,  giving  a  party  at  my  expense. 

BARROW.  She's  certainly  giving  it  at  your  expense,  Ma'am,  if 
she's  giving  it.  Barrow  &  Skipworth  are  not  responsible  for 
anything.  Captain  Crewe  died  without  paying  our  last  bill, 
and  it  was  a  considerable  one. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  That  is  what  happened  to  me.  I  was  always  so 
sure  of  his  payments  that  I  have  been  to  all  sorts  of  ex- 
penses since  his  last  check  came.  I  actually  paid  the  bill 
for  that  ridiculous  doll  and  its  ridiculous  fantastic  wardrobe. 
The  child  was  to  have  anything  she  wanted.  She  has  a  car- 
riage and  a  pony  and  a  maid,  and  I've  paid  for  all  of  them. 

BARROW.   You  hadn't  better  pay  for  anything  more  unless  you 


26  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

want  to  make  presents  to  the  young  lady.     She  has  not  a 

brass  farthing  to  call  her  own. 
MISS  MINCHIN.   But  what  am  I  to  do? 
BARROW.   There  isn't  anything  to  do,  Ma'am.    Captain  Crewe 

is  dead.    The  child  is  left  a  pauper.    Nobody  is  responsible 

for  her  but  you. 
MISS  MINCHIN.   I'm  not  responsible  for  her.     I  refuse  to  be 

made  responsible  for  her. 
BARROW.   I  have  nothing  to  do  with  that,  Ma'am.     I  only 

know  that  Barrow  &  Skipworth  are  not  responsible.    [Bows 

and  turns  to  go. 
MISS  MINCHIN.   But  you  cannot  go  like  that  and  leave  her  on 

my  hands,  —  I  won't  have  it.    I  have  been  cheated;  I  have 

been  swindled;  I'll  turn  her  out  into  the  streets. 
BARROW  (impersonally).   I  wouldn't,  Madam,  if  I  were  you; 

you  can  if  you  like,  but  I  wouldn't.    Bad  for  the  school  — 

ugly  story  to  get  about.     Pay  you  better  to  keep  her  as  a 

sort  of  charity  pupil. 

MISS  MINCHIN.   This  is  infamous.    I'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort. 
BARROW.   She  might  teach  the  little  ones,  run  errands,  and 

that  sort  of  thing. 
MISS  MINCHIN.   Ah,  you  want  to  foist  her  off  on  me.    I  won't 

have  her  foisted  off  on  me. 
BARROW.   Just  as  you  please,  Madam.    The  matter  is  entirely 

in  your  hands.     Good  evening.     Very  sorry  the  thing  has 

happened,    of    course.     Unpleasant  for  all  parties.     Good 

evening. 

[Exit.    Children  off  stage  singing. 
CHILDREN  (singing).   "Here  we  go  round  the  mulberry  bush,  the 

mulberry  bush,  the  mulberry  bush,  —  here  we  go  round  the 

mulberry  bush,  so  early  in  the  morning."     [Miss  Minchin 

stands  a  moment  glaring  after  Barrow.    Then  she  starts  toward 

door.    Stops  as  Amelia  enters. 
AMELIA.   What's  the  matter,  sister? 

MISS  MINCHIN  (fiercely  and  hoarsely).   Where  is  Sara  Crewe? 
AMELIA  (astonished).   Sara?     Why,  she's  with  the  children  in 

your  room. 


The  Little  Princess  27 

Miss  MINCHIN.   Has  she  a  black  frock  in  her  sumptuous  ward- 
robe? 
AMELIA    (stammering).   Why  —  what  —  she   has   only   an   old 

black  velvet  one  that  is  much  too  small  for  hey  —  it  is  too 

short  for  her  to  wear. 
MISS  MINCHIN.    Go  tell  her  to  take  off  that  preposterous  pink 

silk  gown,  and  put  the  black  one  on,  whether  it  is  too  short 

or  not.    She  is  done  with  finery. 
AMELIA.   Sister,  what  can  have  happened? 
MISS  MINCHIN.   Captain  Crewe  is  dead. 
AMELIA.   Oh ! 

MISS  MINCHIN.   He  died  without  a  penny. 
AMELIA.   Oh ! 
MISS  MINCHIN.   That  spoilt,  pampered,  fanciful  child  is  left  a 

pauper  on  my  hands. 
AMELIA.   Oh!  Oh! 
MISS  MINCHIN.  Hundreds  of  ppunds  have  I  spent  on  nonsense  for 

her  —  hundreds  of  pounds  —  I  shall  never  see  a  penny  of  it. 
CHILDREN  (outside).   Ha,  ha,  ha!    [Applause. 
MISS  MINCHIN.    Go,  put  a  stop  to  that  ridiculous  party  of  hers. 

Go  and  make  her  change  her  frock. 

AMELIA  (gapes  and  stares).   M-must  I  go  and  tell  her  now? 
MISS  MINCHIN   (fiercely).   This   moment.     Don't   stand   there 

staring  like  a  goose.    Go. 

[Exit  Amelia. 

CHILDREN  (singing).    "Here  we  go  round  the  mulberry  bush." 
MISS  MINCHIN.   Hundreds  of  pounds!    I  never  hesitated  at  the 

cost  of  anything.     Princess  Sara,  indeed!     The  child  has 

been  pampered  as  if  she  had  been  a  queen.     (Loud  sniffles 

from  Becky  under  table)    What's  that? 
BECKY  (coming  from  under  table).   If  you  please,  Ma'am.    (Sobs) 

It's  me,  Ma'am.     I  hadn't  ought  to,  but  I  hid  under  the 

table  when  you  came  in,  and  I  heard. 
MISS  MINCHIN.   You  impudent  child! 
BECKY  (sobs  frequently).    Oh,  please  'm,  I  daresay  you'll  give 

me  warnin',  but  I'm  so  sorry  for  poor  Miss  Sara  —  she  is 

such  a  kind  young  lady,  Ma'am. 


28  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

MISS  MINCHIN.   Leave  the  room. 

BECKY.  Yes,  'm,  I  will,  'm,  but  I  just  wanted  to  arst  you  — 
Miss  Sara's  been  such  a  rich  young  lady  —  'm  —  she's  been 
waited  on  and  —  poor  —  and  —  what'll  she  do,  Ma'am,  with- 
out no  maid?  If  —  if  —  oh,  please,  would  you  let  me  wait 
on  her  after  I'm  done  my  pots  and  kettles?  I'd  do  them  so 
quick  —  if  you'd  let  me  wait  on  her  —  now  she's  so  poor  — 
oh — poor  little  Miss  Sara  —  Ma'am — that  was  called  a  prin- 
cess. 

Miss  MINCHIN.  No,  certainly  not.  She'll  wait  on  herself  and 
on  other  people  too.  (Stamping  foot)  Leave  the  room  this 
instant  —  or  you  —  leave  this  place. 

BECKY  (at  door,  turns).   Wouldn't  you? 

MISS  MINCHIN  (in  pantomime,  says  "  Go.'9  Exit  Becky.  Fiercely). 
Wait  on  her!  No,  she  will  not  be  waited  on.  (Enter  Sara, 
with  doll  in  arms,  in  black  dress)  Come  here.  (Sara  advances 
a  little)  Put  down  that  doll.  You  will  have  no  time  for  dolls 
in  future. 

SARA.   She  was  the  last  thing  my  papa  gave  me  before  he 
died. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  He  did  not  pay  for  her,  at  any  rate.  I  paid  for 
her. 

SARA  (crossing  to  chair  and  putting  doll  on  it).  Then  she  is  your 
doll,  not  mine. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  Of  course  she  is  my  doll.  (Crossing  to  table) 
Everything  that  you  have  is  mine.  For  a  whole  year  I've 
been  spending  money  on  all  sorts  of  ridiculously  extravagant 
things  for  you,  and  I  shall  never  be  paid  for  one  of  them. 
I've  been  robbed,  robbed,  robbed! 

SARA  (turning  from  doll,  suddenly  and  strongly).  My  papa  did 
not  mean  to  rob  you  —  he  did  not  —  he  did  not ! 

MISS  MINCHIN.   Whether  he  meant  to  do  it  or  not,  he  did  it  - 
and  here  I  am  left  with  you  on  my  hands.    Do  you  under- 
stand? 

SARA.  Yes,  I  understand,  —  Miss  Amelia  told  me.  (Kneels, 
covering  face  with  arms,  in  doll's  lap,  and  bursting  into  tears)  My 
papa  is  dead  —  my  papa  is  dead! 


The  Little  Princess  29 

Miss  MINCHIN.  Stop  crying.  I  sent  for  you  to  talk  to  you, 
and  I  have  no  time  to  waste.  (Sara  sobs)  Stop  crying,  do 
you  hear?  (Pause  until  Sara  rises  and  faces  Miss  Minchin) 
You  are  not  a  princess  any  longer.  Remember  that.  You 
have  no  friends.  You  have  no  money.  You  have  no  one  to 
take  care  of  you.  Your  pony  and  carriage  will  be  sold  at 
once.  Your  maid  will  be  sent  away.  You'll  wear  your  plain- 
est and  oldest  frocks.  Your  extravagant  ones  are  no  longer 
suited  for  your  station.  You're  like  Becky  —  you  will  have 
to  work  for  your  living. 

SARA.   If  you  tell  me  what  to  do,  I'll  do  it. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  You  will  be  obliged  to  do  it  whether  you  like  it 
or  not.  If  I  do  not  choose  to  keep  you  out  of  charity,  you 
have  no  home  but  the  street. 

SARA  (sobbing).   I  know  that. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  Then  listen  to  what  I  say.  If  you  work  hard, 
and  try  to  make  yourself  useful,  I  may  let  you  stay  here. 
You  are  a  sharp  child,  and  pick  up  things  readily.  You  speak 
French  very  well,  and  you  can  help  with  the  younger  chil- 
dren. 

SARA.  Yes,  I  can  help  with  the  little  ones.  I  like  them  and 
they  like  me. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  Don't  talk  nonsense  about  people  liking  you. 
You  are  not  a  parlour-boarder  now.  You  have  to  earn  your 
bread.  You  will  have  more  to  do  than  to  teach  the  little 
ones.  You  will  run  errands  and  help  in  the  kitchen  as  well 
as  in  the  schoolroom.  If  you  don't  please  me  you  will  be 
sent  away.  Now  go.  (Sara  crosses  to  door  to  go)  Stop, 
don't  you  intend  to  thank  me? 

SARA.   What  for? 

MISS  MINCHIN.  For  my  kindness  to  you  —  for  my  kindness  in 
giving  you  a  home. 

SARA  (wildly).   You're  not  kind,  you  are  not  kind! 

MISS  MINCHIN.  Leave  the  room  instantly.  (Sara  starts  to  go) 
Stop.  (Sara  stops)  You  are  not  to  go  to  the  bedroom  you 
used  to  sleep  in. 

SARA.   Where  must  I  go? 


30  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

MISS  MINCHIN.   In  future  you  will  occupy  the  garret  next  to 

Becky's  —  under  the  roof. 

SARA.   The  garret,  next  to  Becky's,  where  the  rats  are? 
MISS  MINCHIN.   Rubbish!    There  are  no  rats  there.    [Crossing  to 

door. 
SARA  (following  to  chair).   There  are.    Oh,  Miss  Minchin,  there 

are!     Sometimes  Becky  can  hardly  sleep  at  all.     She  says 

that  in  the  garret  next  to  hers  they  run  about  all  night. 
MISS  MINCHIN.   Whether  there  are  rats  or  not,  you  will  sleep 

there.    Leave  the  room. 

[Exit  Miss  Minchin.    Door  opens. 
LOTTIE  (outside) .   Sara.    (Enters')    Sara !    (Embraces  Sara  who  is 

on  her  knees)    The  big  girls  say  your  papa  is  dead,  like  my 

mamma;  they  say  you  haven't  any  papa.    Haven't  you  any 

papa? 

SARA.   No,  I  haven't,  Lottie;  no,  I  haven't. 
LOTTIE.   You  said  you'd  be  my  mamma.     I'll  be  your  papa, 

Sara.    Let  Lottie  be  your  papa. 
SARA.   Oh,  Lottie,  love  me ;  please,  Lottie,  love  me — love  me 

CURTAIN 


ACT   II 

SCENE.  A  garret  under  the  roof  at  Miss  Minchin's;  rake  roof 
with  garret  window,  outside  of  which  are  showing  housetops  with 
snow  on  them.  There  are  rat  holes  around.  A  bed,  covered  with 
old  blanket,  sheet,  and  old  coverlet,  badly  torn.  A  table  with  bench 
behind  it.  Chairs,  an  armchair,  and  a  four-legged  stool  above  fire- 
place. A  wash-stand  with  pitcher,  bowl,  soap-dish,  and  mug.  An 
old  trunk.  A  candle  in  stick  unlighted. 

At  the  rise  of  curtain:  Wind  off  stage;  window  opens  and  snow 
flutters  through.  Stage  in  semi-darkness.  Broken  pane  in  window. 

Ram  Dass  appears  on  platform  back  of  window,  with  dark  lan- 
tern. He  raises  window,  examines  room  from  platform  with  light, 


The  Little  Princess  31 

then  beckons  Guest  to  follow  him.    Enter  Guest  on  platform,  also 

carrying  lantern. 

GUEST  (kneeling  beside  Ram  Dass).  You  saw  the  child  go 
out? 

RAM  DASS.  Yes,  Sahib.  (Guest  Lets  himself  down  by  table  through 
window}  She  has  been  sent  out  upon  an  errand. 

GUEST.  And  no  one  ever  enters  here,  but  herself?  You  are 
sure? 

RAM  DASS.   Sure,  Sahib. 

GUEST.  Then  we  are  safe  for  a  few  moments.  We  must  look 
about  and  plan  quickly.  You  have  sharp  ears;  stand  near 
the  door.  If  we  hear  a  sound  on  the  stairs,  we  must  bolt 
through  the  window. 

RAM  DASS  (going  to  door).   Yes,  Sahib.    [Stands  listening. 

GUEST.  What  a  place  to  keep  a  child  in!  (Going  to  fire)  No 
fire  —  no  sign  of  one.  (Crosses  to  bed)  Blanket  thin,  sheet 
miserable.  We  must  alter  this. 

RAM  DASS  (at  door).  When  first  my  master  thought  of  this  plan, 
it  made  him  smile,  and  he  has  not  smiled  for  many  days.  He 
said:  "The  poor  child  will  think  a  magician  has  worked  a 
spell." 

GUEST  (back  of  table,  making  notes).  She  will  indeed.  It's  a 
curious  plan,  but  the  Sahib  is  a  sick  man  and  lonely.  Now 
listen,  Ram  Dass.  You  lascars  can  be  as  silent  as  ghosts. 
Can  you,  with  the  other  three  to  help  you,  steal  in  through 
that  window,  and  do  what  your  master  wishes,  and  make  no 
sound? 

RAM  DASS.  Yes,  Sahib,  Ram  Dass  can  do  it.  He  knows  well 
how  to  make  no  sound  at  all. 

GUEST.  Will  it  be  safer  to  do  it  while  she  is  out  upon  some 
errand,  or  at  night  when  she  is  asleep? 

RAM  DASS.  At  night  when  she  sleeps.  Children  sleep  soundly, 
even  the  unhappy  ones. 

GUEST.  As  Mr.  Carrisford's  house  is  next  door,  you  and  I  can 
bring  the  things  across  the  roof  together.  Yes,  yes,  the  win- 
dow is  wide  enough  to  allow  them  to  be  passed  through. 

RAM  DASS.   Shall  it  be  done  to-night? 


32  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

GUEST.  Yes.  Everything  is  ready,  —  the  measurements  are 
correct.  What's  that? 

RAM  DASS  (at  door).  On  the  staircase  two  flights  below.  It  is 
the  child  herself  returning. 

GUEST.   Here  —  through  here,  quickly. 
[Exit  through  window. 

RAM  DASS  (in  window).  Yes,  Ram  Dass  will  do  this  thing  to- 
night. [Exit.  Enter  Sara,  shabbily  dressed,  wet,  and  tired;  she 
closes  door  and  stands  a  second  leaning  against  it;  looks  about 
the  room,  out  of  breath  and  exhausted  with  climbing  up  stairs. 

SARA.  I  thought  I  should  never  get  back,  never,  never.  (To 
table.  Lights  candle)  How  miserable  it  looks  and  how  tired 
I  am.  (Takes  hat  and  shawl  and  puts  them  on  chair)  They 
are  as  wet  as  though  they'd  fallen  in  a  pond.  (Coming  down 
to  armchair;  sits  in  same)  I've  been  sent  out  on  errands  ten 
times  since  breakfast.  I'm  cold  —  I'm  wet  —  I'm  as  hun- 
gry as  a  wolf.  (Wind.  Rats  squeak.  Sara  has  dropped  head 
in  lap  on  square  stool.  Hears  rats,  looks  up.  Wind  howls  dur- 
ing this  pause)  What  a  noise  my  rats  are  making;  they  must 
have  heard  me  come  in.  (1st  rat  runs  on)  Oh,  there's  Mel- 
chisedek.  Poor  thing,  he's  come  to  ask  for  crumbs.  (Puts 
hand  into  pocket  to  hunt  for  crumbs  and  turns  it  out)  Are  you 
hungry,  too,  poor  Melchisedek.  I'm  very  sorry,  I  haven't 
one  crumb  left.  Go  home,  Melchisedek,  and  tell  your  wife 
that  there  was  nothing  in  my  pocket.  She's  not  as  hungry 
as  I  am.  (1st  rat  off  under  bed)  Good  night.  Poor  thing. 
(Crosses  back  to  armchair,  drops  into  chair,  and  takes  Emily 
in  her  arms)  Do  you  hear,  Emily,  why  don't  you  say  some- 
thing? Sometimes  I'm  sure  you  could,  if  you  tried.  You  are 
the  only  relation  I  have  in  the  world.  Why  don't  you  try? 
Do  you  hear?  I've  walked  a  thousand  miles  to-day,  —  er- 
rands and  errands,  and  errands  and  errands.  Errands  for 
the  cook,  errands  for  Miss  Amelia  —  and  for  Miss  Minchin 
—  and  even  for  the  girls  —  I  had  to  go  for  pencils  for  Lavinia. 
(Outburst)  Everybody  sends  me  errands.  And  because  I 
came  in  late  they  wouldn't  give  me  any  supper.  I'm  so  hun- 
gry I  could  almost  eat  you.  (Wind.  Passionately)  Do  you 


The  Little  Princess  33 

hear?  (Pause,  and  breaks  out  again)  You  are  nothing  but  a 
doll,  doll,  doll  —  you  are  stuffed  with  sawdust  —  you  never 
had  a  heart.  (Throws  Emily  on  stool  and  cries.  Picks  her 
up;  sets  her  in  chair,  sits  on  stool,  elbows  on  knees,  and  gazes  at 
her  relentingly)  You  can't  help  being  a  doll,  I  suppose,  any 
more  than  good-natured  Ermengarde  can  help  being  stupid. 
I  oughtn't  have  slapped  you.  You  were  born  a  doll  —  per- 
haps you  do  your  sawdust  best.  (Knock  on  door)  I  wonder 
who  it  is.  (Rises  hesitating)  Lottie  is  in  bed  and  poor  Becky 
was  crying  when  I  came  through  the  kitchen.  The  cook  was 
in  a  passion  and  she  couldn't  get  away.  (Opens  door,  sees 
Lottie  alarmed,  surprised.  Enter  Lottie  in  nightgown,  hugging 
a  birthday  doll.  Wind)  Oh,  Lottie,  you  oughtn't  to  come 
here  so  late.  Miss  Minchin  would  be  so  cross  if  she  caught 
you.  What  do  you  want,  darling? 

LOTTIE  (who  has  run  to  Sara  and  is  clinging  to  her).  I  want  you, 
mamma  Sara.  Oh,  I  had  such  an  ugly  dream,  and  I  got 
frightened 

SARA  (leads  her  to  armchair,  and  takes  her  up  in  lap).  I'll  hug 
you  a  minute,  Lottie,  but  you  mustn't  stay,  —  it's  too 
cold. 

LOTTIE.  Hug  me  and  kiss  me  like  a  real  mamma  —  Sara,  it 
was  such  an  ugly  dream 

SARA  (hugs  her).   Are  you  better  now,  darling? 

LOTTIE.  Yes.  You  are  such  a  comfty  hugger,  Sara  —  (Sits  up 
cheerfully,  and  sees  doll  on  ottoman)  There's  Emily.  She's 
not  so  pretty  as  Lady  Arabella,  is  she? 

SARA.  No,  but  she's  the  only  relation  I've  got  in  the  world. 
My  papa  gave  her  to  me  when  he  brought  me  to  Miss  Min- 
chin's,  six  years  ago. 

LOTTIE  (putting  her  doll  beside  Emily).  There,  Emily,  Lady 
Arabella  has  come  to  see  you.  (To  Sara)  Have  you  seen 
your  rat  lately,  mamma  Sara? 

SARA.  Yes  —  poor  Melchisedek  —  he  came  out  to-night  to  beg 
for  crumbs,  and  I  hadn't  any  for  him.  But  there,  Lottie 
dear,  you  must  not  stay  in  the  cold.  (Coaxing  her)  You 
won't  have  any  more  ugly  dreams  —  for  Sara  will  keep  think- 


34  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

ing  good  dreams  for  you  after  you've  gone  back  to  bye-lows, 

—  you  must  run  back  now,  like  a  sweet  Lottie 

LOTTIE.   Oh,  but  Sara,  I  like  to  stay  with  you.    I  like  your  old 

garret  and  Emily  and  the  rat.    [Wind  and  snow. 
SARA.   But  listen  to  the  wind.     See  the  snow  coming  through 

the  broken  window.     You  mustn't  stay  here  in  your  little 

nightie.    I'll  take  you  to  the  top  of  the  stairs  and  you  must 

go  back  to  bed. 
LOTTIE.   But  mayn't  I  say  my  seven  times  to  you  before  I  go? 

I  have  to  say  it  to  Miss  Amelia  in  the  morning.    May  I  sit 

here  on  your  bed  —  (does  so)  and  say  it? 
SARA  (kneeling  in  front  of  Lottie).   Well,  you  can  say  it  to  me 

once. 
LOTTIE  (singsong). 

Seven  times  one  are  seven  — 
Seven  times  two  are  fourteen  — 
Seven  times  three  are  twenty-one  — 
Seven  times  four  are  forty-eight  — 

SARA  (caressingly).   Oh,  no,  Lottie,  not  forty-eight. 

LOTTIE  (anxiously).   Not  forty-eight 

SARA  (suggestively).   Not  forty-eight  — 

LOTTIE    (catching    at    straws).    Not    forty-eight  —  then  —  it's 

sume-ty  other  eight 

SARA  (encouragingly). 

Seven  times  one  are  seven  — 
Seven  times  two  are  fourteen  — 

LOTTIE  (dawning  hope).   Seven  times  three  are  twenty-one  — 

(Excited  haste)    Seven  times  four  are  twenty-eight 

SARA  (hugs  and  kisses  her).   Yes,  that's  it  —  go  on. 
LOTTIE  (much  cheered  —  singsong). 

Seven  times  five  are  thirty-five, 
Seven  times  six  are  forty-two, 
Seven  times  seven  are  forty-nine  — 
Seven  times  eight  are  fifty-six  — 


The  Little  Princess  35 

(Slowing  up)     Seven  times  —  nine  —  seven  times  —  seven 
times  —  ni  —  nine  —  seven  times  nine  are  —      (Despairingly) 
Oh,  Sara,  seven  times  nine  is  such  a  hard  one. 
SARA  (slow,  suggestively). 

Seven  times  nine  —  are  —  si  —  si  — 
Seven  times  nine  are  six  — 

LOTTIE  (catching  her  up  with  a  shout  of  glee).  Sixty-three  — 
seven  times  nine  are  sixty-three  —  (Rattles  off  with  trium- 
phant glee  and  ease) 

Seven  times  ten  are  seventy  — 

Seven  times  eleven  are  seventy-seven  and 

Seven  times  twelve  are  eighty-four. 

SARA  (hugs  her).  That's  beautiful  —  all  you  have  to  remember 
is  seven  fours  are  twenty-eight  and  seven  nines  are  sixty- 
three.  Now  we  must  go,  pet.  [Sets  Lottie  down,  giving  her 
doll  —  leads  her  out  of  room  door.  Garret  left  empty  for  few 
minutes,  then  cautious  knock  —  outside.  Door  is  opened  by 
Ermengarde  who  at  first  looks  around  edge  cautiously  and  enters. 
Wind.  Ermengarde  has  pile  of  books  under  arm,  is  dressed  in 
nightgown,  with  bare  feet,  and  has  hair  done  in  curl  papers. 
ERMENGARDE.  I  wonder  where's  she's  gone.  (Rats  squeak.  Er- 
"  mengarde  screams,  runs  and  jumps  on  bed)  Oh,  these  rats  — 
oh  —  (ad  lib.  —  Rat  comes  out  from  behind  wash-stand,  stops. 
Ermengarde  drops  slipper)  Oh,  Melchy  —  (to  rat)  please  go 
way  —  oh,  do  go  way  and  let  me  get  my  slipper,  —  there's  a 
good  Melchy  -  (As  rat  moves)  I'll  give  you  a  bun  to-mor- 
row. (Rat  runs  off.  Ermengarde,  out  of  bed,  hops  across  floor 
to  get  her  slipper,  and  sinks  in  chair,  sighing.  She  puts  on 
slipper)  I  wonder  where  she's  gone.  I  wonder  if  that  nasty 
cook  has  sent  her  out  in  all  the  snow  and  slush.  (Rises  and 
sees  hat  and  shawl  on  chair)  No,  she's  not  gone  out  —  there 
are  her  hat  and  shawl,  —  they  are  dripping  wet.  It's  a 
shame.  (Puts  books  on  table)  These  came  to-day  from  my 
papa.  He  wants  me  to  read  every  one  of  them,  and  he'll  ask 
me  questions  about  them  when  he  sees  me.  It's  awful.  (Im- 


36  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

patiently)  I'm  not  clever  like  Sara.  I'd  as  soon  take  cas- 
tor-oil as  read  them,  and  if  I  did  read  them,  I  couldn't  re- 
member what's  in  them.  (Drops  books  on  floor)  I  was  born 
stupid.  (Wind.  Rises  from  chair)  I  wish  Sara  would  come. 
(Goes  to  bed)  What  a  horrible  little  bed.  She  must  nearly 
freeze  to  death  on  these  cold  nights.  Oh,  it  is  a  shame. 
She's  treated  worse  than  poor  little  Becky,  the  scullery- 
maid.  (Rat  heard  squeaking.  Ermengarde  screams  again,  runs 
to  chair ,  and  hides  feet  under  her  in  terror)  I  wish  she'd  come. 
(Enter  Sara)  Sara! 

SARA.  I  didn't  know  you  were  coming  here  to-night,  Ermen- 
garde. 

ERMENGARDE.  :I  crept  out  of  my  room  after  the  other  girls 
were  asleep.  Papa  has  sent  me  some  more  books,  Sara.  (De- 
jectedly pointing  to  table  and  books  on  floor)  There  they  are. 

SARA  (delightedly).  Oh,  has  he?  (Runs  to  books ,  and  sits  on 
floor.  Looks  at  titles  on  books,  opens  them)  How  beautiful. 
Carlyle's  "French  Revolution."  I  have  so  wanted  to  read 
that! 

ERMENGARDE.  I  haven't.  And  papa  will  be  so  cross  if  I  don't. 
He'll  want  me  to  know  all  about  it  when  I  go  home  for  the 
holidays.  What  shall  I  do? 

SARA  (excited).  Look  here,  Ermengarde.  If  you'll  lend  me 
these  books,  I'll  read  them,  and  tell  you  everything  that's  in 
them  afterwards,  and  I'll  tell  it  so  that  you'll  remember  it  too. 

ERMENGARDE.   Oh,  Sara,  Sara,  do  you  think  you  could? 

SARA.  I  know  I  can.  The  little  A,  B,  C  children  always  re- 
member what  I  tell  them. 

ERMENGARDE  (pause).  Sara,  if  you'll  do  that,  and  make  me 
remember,  I'll  —  I'll  give  you  some  of  my  pocket-money. 

SARA.  I  don't  want  your  money,  Ermy,  I  want  your  books. 
(Holds  them  tight  in  arms)  I  want  them! 

ERMENGARDE.  Take  them  then,  —  you're  welcome.  I  wish  I 
wanted  them. 

SARA  (cheerfully).  Well,  that's  all  right.  I'm  so  glad.  (Puts 
books  on  floor  beside  her)  Now  let's  tell  each  other  things. 
How  are  you  getting  on  with  your  French  lessons? 


The  Little  Princess  37 

ERMENGARDE.   Ever  so  much  better  since  I  began  to  come  up 

into  your  garret,  and  you  began  to  teach  me. 
SARA.   I  am  glad.     (Looks  around  room)    The  garret  would  be 

rather  nice  if  it  wasn't  so  very  dreadful.     (Laughs)     It's  a 

good  place  to  pretend  in. 

ERMENGARDE  (eagerly).    What  do  you  pretend,  Sara? 
SARA.   Well,  generally  I  pretend  it  is  the  Bastille,  and  I'm  kept 

a  prisoner  here  like  Doctor  Manette  in  "A  Tale  of  Two 

Cities." 

ERMENGARDE  (interested).   And  what  else? 
SARA.   I  pretend  I  have  been  here  for  years  —  and  years  and 

years  —  and  years  —  and  everyone  has  forgotten  all  about 

me,  and  Miss  Minchin  is  the  jailer.     And  I  pretend  that 

there's  another  prisoner  in  the  next  cell,  —  that's  Becky, 

you  know,  —  I've  told  her  about  it  —  and  I  knock  on  the  wall 

to  make  her  hear,  and  she  knocks  like  this,  —  you  know. 

(Knocks  three  times  on  wall;  listens  a  moment)     She's  not 

there;  if  she  were  she'd  knock  back.    Ah! 
ERMENGARDE.   Ah,  it's  just  like  a  story. 
SARA.   It  is  a  story;  everything  is  a  story  —  you're  a  story, 

I'm  a  story,  Miss  Minchin's  a  story.    [Rats  squeak. 
ERMENGARDE  (gets  on  stool  and  screams).   Ah,  there  are  the  rats 

again.    Are  you  never  afraid  of  the  rats,  Sara? 
SARA  (on  floor).    Not  now.     I  was  at  first,  but  now  they're  a 

part  of  the  story.     There  were  always  rats  in  prisons,  and 

the  prisoners  tamed  them  with  crumbs.    That  is  how  I  tamed 

Melchisedek  and  his  wife.     (Calls  rats)     Come  on,  Melchy 

dear,  come,  nice  Melchy. 
ERMENGARDE  (stumbles).    Oh,  don't  call  them  out;  come  back, 

Sara.     Tell  me  some  more    stories  —  they    are    so    nice. 

[They  resume  former  positions. 
SARA.   Well,  I  tell  myself  stories  about  the  people  who  live  in 

the  other  houses  in  the  square.    The  large  family,  you  know. 
ERMENGARDE  (seated  on  stool).    Did  Miss  Minchin  ever  let  you 

go  there  to  tea? 
SARA  (shakes  head).   No,  she  said  visits  were  not  suited  to  my 

station. 


38  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

ERMENGARDE.     Old Cat - 

SARA.  But  I  watch  them  out  of  the  garret  window  there. 
When  I  stand  on  the  table  under  it,  I  can  see  all  up  and 
down  the  street.  That's  how  I  got  to  know  the  lascar  and 
the  monkey. 

ERMENGARDE.    What  lascar  and  what  monkey? 

SARA.  The  lascar  is  the  Indian  gentleman's  servant,  and  the 
monkey  is  the  Indian  gentleman's  monkey. 

ERMENGARDE.   Where  do  they  live? 

SARA.  They  live  next  door.  He  is  the  rich  gentleman  who  is 

always  ill (Stops  and  listens)  Didn't  you  hear  something 

at  the  window? 

ERMENGARDE  (frightened).   Yes. 

SARA  (gets  up  and  goes  to  window).  There's  nothing  there. 
(Laughs)  Perhaps  Melchisedek  and  his  wife  are  having  a 
party  under  the  roof.  The  lascar  lives  in  the  next  garret, 
and  the  monkey  lives  with  him  —  one  day  the  monkey  ran 
away  and  came  in  through  my  window,  and  the  lascar  had 
to  come  after  him. 

ERMENGARDE.  What,  that  black  Indian  man  in  the  white  tur- 
ban, Sara?  Did  he  really  come  in  here? 

SARA.  Yes,  and  he  took  the  monkey  back.  I  like  him  and  he 
likes  me.  I  remember  enough  Hindustani  to  talk  to  him  a 
little,  — |  so  now  he  salaams  to  me  when  he  sees  me.  Like 
this  —  4  (Salaams.  Stops,  and  listens  again)  I'm  sure  there's 
something  at  the  window;  it  sounds  like  a  cat  trying  to  get 
in.  (Goes  to  window.  Ermengarde  stumbles.  Turns  from  win- 
dow, pleased)  Suppose  it  was  the  monkey  who  had  got  away 
again.  Oh,  suppose  it  was  —  -  (Tiptoes  to  window,  lifts  it  and 
looks  out)  It  is  the  monkey. 

ERMENGARDE  (crossing  to  end  of  table).  He  lost  his  way  and  saw 
the  light.  Are  you  going  to  let  him  in,  Sara? 

SARA  (on  table).  Yes,  it's  too  cold  for  monkeys  to  be  out  — 
they  are  delicate.  I'll  coax  him  in.  He's  quite  close;  how  he 
shivers.  He's  so  cold  —  he's  quite  tame.  (Coaxingly)  Come 
along,  monkey  darling,  I  won't  hurt  you.  [Takes  monkey 
through  window  —  jumps  down. 


The  Little  Princess  39 

ERMENGARDE  (Sara  crosses  to  end  of  table,  and  sits.     Ermengarde 

back  of  table).   Oh,  Sara,  how  funny  he  is  —  aren't  you  afraid 

he'll  bite  you?  / 
SARA.  Oh,  no  —  nice  monkey,  /nice  monkey Oh,  I  do 

love     little     animal     things  —I—      Oh,     you     queer     little 

darling. 
ERMENGARDE  (sits  to  right  of  table).   He  looks  like  a  very  ugly 

baby. 
SARA.   I'm  glad  he's  not  a  baby.    His  mother  couldn't  be  proud 

of  him  —  and  no  one  would  dare  to  say  he  was  like  any  of 

his  relations.     I  do  like  you  —  perhaps  he's  sorry  he's  so 

ugly  and  it's  always  on  his  mind.     I  wonder  if  he  has  a 

mind? 

ERMENGARDE.   What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him? 
SARA.    I  must  take  him  back  to  the  Indian  gentleman.    But  I 

am  sorry Oh,  the  company  you  would  be  to  a  person  in 

a  garret ! 

ERMENGARDE.   Shall  we  take  him  back  to-night? 
SARA.   It  is  too  late  to-night.    I  must  keep  you  here,  monkey 

my  love,  but  I'll  be  kind  to  you. 
ERMENGARDE.  Where  will  he  sleep? 
SARA  (looks  around).  Oh,  I  know  —  that  cupboard (Gets 

up,  crosses  to  cupboard,  and  opens  door)     See,  I  can  make  a 

bed  for  him  here.    I'll  give  him  one  of  my  pillows  to  lie  on, 

and  cover  him  with  my  blanket.    [Crosses  to  bed. 
ERMENGARDE.   But  you'll  be  so  cold. 
SARA.   But  I'm  used  to  being  cold  and  he  isn't.    I  wasn't  born 

in  a  tropical  forest.     Let's  make  his  bed  now  and  see  if  he 

likes  it.     (Takes  pillow  from  bed)     You  bring  the   blanket. 

(Ermengarde  takes  blanket)    Yes,  monkey,  pet  lamb,  you  shall 

have  nice  bye-lows  and  go  rock-a-bye  baby. 

ERMENGARDE.     What? 

SARA.  I  mean  rock-a-bye  monkey (Makes  bed  in  closet)  And 

Sara  will  take  you  back  home  to  your  family.  [Noise  outside, 
of  Becky  coming  upstairs. 

ERMENGARDE  (frightened).    What's  that? 

SARA.   It's  only  Becky  coming  up  to  bed. 


40  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

MISS  MINCHIN  (outside  door).  Rebecca,  Rebecca! 

SARA.  What,  —  Miss  Minchin,  —  she  might  come  up.  [Er- 
mengarde,  looking  wildly  about  the  room,  suddenly  tucks  night- 
gown around  her  and  rolls  under  bed.  Sara  hurriedly  shuts 
monkey  up  in  cupboard. 

MISS  MINCHIN  (outside).  Remember,  Rebecca,  you  get  up  at 
five  in  the  morning. 

BECKY  (outside).   Yes,  mum,  thank  'e,  mum 

[Miss  Minchin  heard  outside,  descending  steps.    Sara  to  bed  and 
lifts  cover  so  Ermengarde  can  get  out  from  under  it. 

SARA.   Come  out  —  it's  all  right.    She's  gone  to  bed  herself. 

ERMENGARDE  (sees  she's  gone  —  crawling  out).  What  if  she 
caught  us [Three  knocks  heard  from  Becky. 

SARA  (disappointedly).  Oh,  that  means  —  "the  cook  would  not 
give  me  the  cold  potatoes." 

ERMENGARDE.  Cold  potatoes  —  were  they  to  feed  the  rats 
with? 

SARA.  They  were  to  feed  me  with.  (Little  laugh.  Ermengarde 
amazed)  You  don't  know  how  nice  cold  potatoes  are  —  if 
you  pretend  they  are  something  quite  different  —  and  put 
salt  on  —  that  is  —  if  you  are  hungry. 

ERMENGARDE  (aghast).  Sara  —  Sara  —  are  you  ever  hungry 
enough  for  cold  potatoes? 

SARA.  Yes,  I  am.  I  am  so  hungry  now  that  I  could  eat  —  I 
could  eat  Miss  Minchin  if  she  were  different  —  but  she'd 
have  to  be  very  different. 

ERMENGARDE.  She  wouldn't  be  different  enough  if  you'd  put 
pepper  on  her  as  well  as  salt  —  Sara  —  (suddenly)  I've  just 
thought  of  something  splendid.  (Inspirited)  I've  just 
thought  of  something  splendid! 

SARA.   What  is  it? 

ERMENGARDE  (excited  hurry).  This  very  afternoon,  I  had  a  box 
full  of  good  things  sent  me.  My  aunt  sent  it.  I  haven't 
touched  it.  It's  got  cakes  in  it  —  and  little  meat  pies  and 
jam  tarts  and  buns  and  red  currant  wine,  and  figs  and  rai- 
sins and  chocolates.  I'll  creep  back  to  my  room  and  get  it 
this  minute.  And  we'll  eat  it  now. 


The  Little  Princess  41 

SARA  (clutches  Ermengarde9  s  arm).  Oh,  it  makes  me  faint  to 
hear  of  it.  You  are  good,  Ermy.  (Hug)  Do  you  think  you 
could? 

ERMENGARDE.     I  knOW  I  COuld. 

SARA.   Don't  make  a  noise. 

ERMENGARDE  (runs  to  door,  peeps  out,  then  back  to  Sara).   The 

lights  are  out.    Miss  Minchin  turned  out  the  gas  when  she 

went  down.    I  can  creep  and  creep,  and  no  one  will  hear  me. 

[Dance.  % 

SARA.   Ermy,  let's  pretend  —  let's  pretend  it's  a  party  —  and 

oh,  wont  you  invite  the  prisoner  in  the  next  cell? 
ERMENGARDE  (delighted).   Yes,  yes,  let's  knock  on  the  wall  now, 

—  the  jailer  won't  hear. 

SARA  (goes  to  wall  and  knocks  once).  That  means  "Prisoner, 
the  jailer  has  made  his  last  rounds  and  we  can  talk."  (They 
both  listen  until  two  knocks  are  heard  in  response)  That  means 
"Are  you  sure  it  is  safe?"  (Knocks  three  times  herself)  That 
means  "Quite  sure,  I  heard  the  iron  gates  clang  and  the  key 
turn  in  the  lock."  (Becky  knocks  four  times)  That  means 
"  Is  it  safe  for  me  to  come  to  you  through  the  secret  passage 
we  have  dug  under  the  wall?"  (Knocks  smartly  one  knock 

—  and  then  two  —  separated  by  pause)    That  means  — "Quite 
safe  —  come."     (Knock  at  door  is  heard)     Here  she  comes. 
(Opens  door.    Becky  enters.    She  starts  at  sight  of  Ermengarde) 
Don't  be  frightened,  Becky.     (Catching  Becky,  who  tries  to 
run  off)    Miss  Ermengarde  is  our  friend;  she's  asked  you  to 
come  in  here,  because  she's  going  to  bring  a  box  of  good 
things  up  here. 

BECKY.   To  eat,  Miss (Bursting  in)    Things  that's  good 

to  eat? 

SARA.   Yes,  and  we're  going  to  pretend  a  party. 
ERMENGARDE.   And  you  shall  have  all  you  want  to  eat 

[All  dance  and  exclaim.    Becky  stops  them  by 

BECKY.   Sh  —    [Points  down. 

ERMENGARDE.   Oh,  that  old  cat,  Miss  Minchin  —  but  there's 

Magus  and  Brazil  nuts  and  lots  of  good  things 

BECKY.   Ow  'ev'nly.    [Ermengarde  drops  shawl. 


42  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

SARA.  Ermy,  you  go  for  the  box  and  we  will  set  the  table. 
[Puts  Ermengarde  out  of  the  door^ 

BECKY.  Oh,  Miss  —  oh,  Miss,  I  know  it's  you  that  asked  her 
to  let  me  come.  It  makes  me  cry  to  think  of  it. 

SARA  (cheerfully,  embracing  her).  No,  no,  you  mustn't  cry.  We 
must  make  haste  and  set  the  table.  What  can  we  put  on  it? 
(Sees  red  shawl)  Here's  her  shawl  —  I  know  she  won't  mind. 
It  will  make  such  a  nice  red  table-cloth.  (Picks  it  up  and 
spreads  it  on  table  with  Becky's  help)  What  next?  Oh! 
(Clasps  hands  delightedly)  I  know,  I'll  look  for  something  in 
my  old  trunk,  that  I  used  to  have  when  I  was  a  princess. 
(Runs  to  trunk,  opens  it  and  rummages  in  it.  Stops  and  sees 
Becky)  Becky,  do  you  know  what  a  banquet  is? 

BECKY.  No,  Miss,  is  it  something  to  be  'et,  or  something  to  be 
wore? 

'SARA  (sitting  by  trunk).  It's  a  magnificent  feast.  Kings  have 
them,  and  Queens,  and  Lord  Mayors.  We  are  going  to  have 
one.  Now  begin  to  pretend  just  as  hard  as  ever  you  can  — 
and  straighten  the  richly  embroidered  table-cloth.  [Sara  turns 
to  trunk  again,  as  Becky  straightens  table-cloth.  Becky  then 
stands,  squeezing  her  eyes  tight  shut,  clenching  her  hands  and 
holding  her  breath.  Sara  takes  package  of  handkerchiefs  from 
trunk,  rises  to  go  to  table,  sees  Becky  and  laughs. 

SARA.   What  are  you  doing,  Becky? 

BECKY  (opening  her  eyes  and  catching  her  breath).  I  was  pre- 
tending, Miss.  It  takes  a  good  bit  of  strength. 

SARA.  Yes,  it  does  —  just  at  first.  But  it  doesn't  take  so  much 
when  you  get  used  to  it.  I'm  used  to  it.  Now  what  do  you 
suppose  these  are? 

BECKY  (delighted).  They  looks  like  'ankerchiefs,  Miss,  but  I 
know  they  ain't 

SARA.  No,  they  are  not.  They  are  plates  and  napkins.  Gold 
and  silver  plates  and  richly  embroidered  napkins  —  to  match 
the  table-cloth.  These  are  the  plates  and  these  are  the  nap- 
kins. (Giving  each  bundle  to  Becky  separately)  You  must 
not  take  the  napkins  for  the  plates,  or  the  plates  for  the 
napkins,  Becky. 


The  Little  Princess  43 

BECKY.   Lor',  no,  Miss.    They  ain't  nothin'  like  each  other. 

SARA.  No,  they're  not.  If  you  pretend  hard  enough.  (Steps 
back)  Don't  they  look  nice? 

BECKY.  Jest  lovely,  Miss.  Particular  them  gold  and  silver 
plates. 

SARA.  Yes-,  but  the  embroidery  on  the  napkins  is  beautiful;  nuns 
did  it  in  a  convent  in  Spain.  (Suddenly)  Oh,  Becky,  I  for- 
got to  tell  you.  This  isn't  the  Bastille  now. 

BECKY  (eagerly).  Ain't  it,  Miss?  Lor*  now,  what  has  it  turned 
into? 

SARA  (grandly).   It's  a  marble  hall. 

BECKY    A  marble  hall?    I  say 

SARA.   Yes,  it's  a  marble  hall  in  a  palace  —  it's  a  banquet  hall. 

BECKY  (looking  around  room,,  opening  eyes  wide}.   A  banket  hall! 

SAR^V.  No  —  a  banquet  hall  —  that  window  opens  into  the 
vast  conservatory  where  the  tropical  plants  grow  -  (Sud- 
dknly)  Oh,  that  reminds  me  of  flowers.  We  ought  to  have 
some  flowers. 

BECKY.   Oh,  yes,  Miss,  we  ought  to  have  some  flowers. 

SARA.  Where  can  we  get  flowers  from?  Oh,  the  trunk  again  — 
(Runs  to  trunk,  tumbles  out  the  contents.  Drags  out  old  sum- 
mer hat  with  flowers  on  it)  Here  they  are (Tears  flowers 

of  hat)  What  shall  we  put  them  in?  (Looks  about  and  sees 
wash-stand)  Becky,  there's  something  that  looks  like  a  tooth- 
brush mug  —  but  it  isn't.  It's  a  crystal  flagon  —  bring  it 
here.  [Becky  brings  it  —  Sara  arranges  flowers  in  it. 

BECKY.  There  you  are,  Miss,  a  Christmas  Dragon.  There's 
something  else  there,  Miss,  that  looks  like  a  soap  dish  —  but 
it  ain't.  Shall  I  get  it? 

SARA  (nods  "Yes").   Yes.    [Becky  brings  it. 

SARA  (takes  it  from  Becky).  It's  a  gold  epergne  encrusted  with 

gems.  (Wreathes  flowers  about  it)  Oh,  Becky,  Becky 

(They  both  gaze  with  delight.  Becky  clutches  her  lips  with  one 
hand  and  lifts  them  up  and  down)  Now  if  we  had  something 
for  bonbon  dishes  —  there,  I  remember  —  I  saw  something 

this  minute.  The  darling  old  trunk (Crosses  to  it)  It's 

like  a  fairy.  [Takes  out  bundle  of  wool,  wrapped  in  scarlet  and 


44  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

white  tissue-paper.  Goes  back  of  table,  tears  off  paper  and 
twists  into  shapes  of  little  dishes. 

BECKY.  Ah,  Miss  Sara,  this  'ere  Blanket  Hall  —  I  mean  Ban- 
ket 'all,  and  all  them  golden  gems  —  ain't  them  beautiful? 
[Sara  puts  candle  on  table  from  mantel  shelf.  Enter  Ermen- 
garde  with  hamper  of  goodies.  She  starts  back  with  exclama- 
tions of  joy. 

ERMENGARDE.  Oh,  Sara,  you  are  the  cleverest  girl  I  ever 
saw. 

SARA.   Isn't  it  nice?    They  are  things  out  of  my  old  trunk. 

ERMENGARDE.  And  here's  the  hamper (Sets  it  on  chair) 

You  take  the  things  out,  Sara.  You'll  make  them  look  nice. 

BECKY.  Yes,  Miss,  you  take  them  out  —  I  don't  dast  trust 
myself. 

SARA.  Thank  you (Looks  in  box)  What  a  lovely  cake. 

(Takes  out  same  and  puts  it  on  table)  And  mince  pie  —  a 
chicken  patty  —  and  grapes  —  and  oranges  —  and  plum  buns 
with  sugar  on  —  and  crystallized  fruit  in  an  angel  box  and 
chocolate  caramels. 

BECKY.  Chocolate  camels [Arranging  the  goodies -,  etc.,  until 

table  is  quite  decorated. 

SARA.   There. 

ERMENGARDE.   It's  like  a  real  party. 

BECKY.   It's  like  a  Queen's  table. 

ERMENGARDE  (sudden  thought).  Sara,  do  you  ever  pretend  you 
are  a  princess  now?  [Becky  puts  basket  on  bed,  and  chairs  at 
table. 

SARA.  Oh,  yes,  I  have  to  pretend  it  all  the  time.  It  helps  me 
to  be  polite  to  people  when  they  are  rude  to  me.  I'm  a  prin- 
cess in  rags  and  tatters,  but  I'm  a  princess  inside. 

ERMENGARDE  (suddenly).  I'll  tell  you  what,  Sara.  Pretend  you 
are  a  princess  now,  and  that  you  are  giving  a  banquet. 

SARA.  But  it  is  your  banquet  —  you  must  be  the  Princess, 
Ermy.  We'll  be  your  maids  of  honour. 

ERMENGARDE.  Oh,  I  can't  —  I'm  too  stupid  —  and  I  don't 
know  how  —  you  be  her. 

BECKY.   Yes,  Miss  —  go  on,  you  be  her. 


The  Little  Princess  45 

SARA.   Well,  if  you  want  me  to (Pause,  —  then  suddenly) 

But  I've  thought  of  something  else (Goes  to  fireplace) 

Yes,  there  is  a  lot  of  paper  and  rubbish  left  in  here.  If  we 
light  it,  it  will  blaze  up  for  a  few  minutes,  and  we  can  pre- 
tend it's  a  real  fire.  If  we  only  had  more  paper. 

ERMENGARDE  (with  sudden  inspiration,  running  to  books).  I 
know  —  books 

SARA.   No,  no,  don't  tear  the  books,  Ermy. 

ERMENGARDE  (pause,  then  quickly).  The  curl  papers  then. 
(Runs  to  Sara,  kneels  before  fire.  Sara  pulls  papers  off  Ermy' s 
head)  Oh,  oh,  they  hurt. 

SARA.  By  the  time  it  stops  blazing  we  shall  forget  it's  not 
being  real.  (Strikes  light  on  box,  starts  fire.  The  three  girls 
before  it)  Doesn't  it  look  real?  Now  we  will  begin  the 

party (From  behind  table)  Oh,  girls — this — (paper  off 

a  cake)  shall  be  my  crown,  and  this  my  sceptre.  (Making 
spill  of  paper)  Advance,  fair  damsels,  and  be  seated  at  the 

banquet   table (Sara  sings)    Tra-la-la  —  tra-la-la  — 

(Beats  time  with  paper)  Take  each  other's  hand  and  ad- 
vance   (Becky  not  knowing  how)  No,  no;  Ermy,  show 

Becky  how,  you  know  —  show  Becky.  (Sings  again)  Tra- 
la-la  (Becky  and  Ermengarde  join  hands  and  dance  to 

music.  Becky  falls  over  books.  Finally  at  end  of  strain  both 
are  in  chairs,  —  all  sit  together)  My  noble  father,  the  King, 
who  is  absent  on  a  long  journey,  has  commanded  me  to  feast 

you.     (Addressing  air)     What  ho,  there (Looking  into 

mid-air.  Ermy  and  Becky  look  puzzled,  not  understanding) 
Minstrels,  strike  up  with  your  viols  and  your  bassoons.  (Er- 
mengarde and  Becky  look  puzzled.  Sara  explains  to  them,  re- 
suming her  natural  manner)  Princes  always  have  minstrels 
at  the  feast.  Pretend  there's  a  minstrel  gallery  up  there. 
(Points  up  toward  audience)  What  ho  there  —  strike (Er- 
mengarde and  Becky  stare  at  her  in  rapture,  then  jump  to  feet. 
Imitate  trombone,  humming  "  Johnny,  get  your  hair  cut."  At 
end  of  song  they  sit)  Now  we  will  begin. 


46  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

THE  LITTLE  PRINCESS 

Close  your  eyes  tight  now  and  fancy 

How  Grandmother  looked  when  a  girl, 
With  soft  dimpled  cheek  and  manners  so  sweet, 

With  her  powder,  patches  and  curl. 
Suppose  I  pretend  I  am  like  her 

With  her  quaint,  dainty  ways,  at  a  ball,  — 
See  the  dance  she  is  in  —  'tis  about  to  begin; 

Can  you  fancy  scene,  costumes  and  all? 

Suppose  you  were  all  at  this  old-fashioned  ball, 

Suppose,  suppose,  suppose 

Here's  what  you  would  see  if  you  could  be 

Her  guest  at  a  dance  of  '73. 

Suppose  in  a  far-off  country, 

In  the  days  of  long  ago, 
You've  entered  the  gate  at  the  time  of  a  fete 

In  a  garden  of  Tokio. 
Can  you  see  the  Japanese  maidens 

With  their  dainty  figures  so  small, 
See  the  dance  they  are  in  —  it's  about  to  begin. 

Can  you  fancy  scene,  flowers  and  all? 

Suppose  you  are  hid  in  Snowflower's  chair, 

Suppose,  suppose,  suppose, 
See  their  black  heads  bow  low  as  they  dance  to  and  fro? 

These  quaint  little  geishas  of  Tokio? 

Suppose  in  the  fairies'  country, 

Where  the  moss  makes  a  carpet  green 
Out  under  the  trees  with  their  rustling  leaves 

At  the  Court  of  the  Elfin  Queen, 
You  could  hide  yourself  in  a  tree-top 

And  peep  into  Hazel  Brush  Hall, 
See  the  dance  they  are  in  —  'tis  about  to  begin. 

See  the  Brownies,  moonbeams  and  all? 


The  Little  Princess  47 

Suppose  you  are  there,  unseen  to  the  stare, 

Suppose,  suppose,  suppose, 
Here's  what  you  would  see  if  you  could  be 

A  visiting  sprite  in  the  top  of  a  tree. 

[Door  is  thrown  violently  open.  Enter  Miss  Minchin.  Ermy 
dives  under  table.  Becky  cowers  with  cake  in  hand;  afterwards 
puts  cake  back  on  table.  Sara  stands  behind  table  with  crown  on. 

MISS  MINCHIN.   What  does  this  mean? 

ERMENGARDE  (under  table).   It's  a  party. 

MISS  MINCHIN  (to  Becky).  You  audacious  creature.  You  leave 
the  house  in  the  morning. 

BECKY.   Yes,  mum. 

ERMENGARDE.  Don't  send  her  away,  please.  My  aunt  sent  me 
a  box  full  of  good  things 

BECKY.   Yes,  mum  —  an'  we're  only  just  'avin'  a  party. 

MISS  MINCHIN  (witheringly) .  So  I  see,  with  the  Princess  Sara  at 
the  head  of  the  table.  (Turns  on  Sara)  This  is  your  doing, 
I  know  —  Ermengarde  would  have  never  thought  of  such  a 
thing.  You  decorated  the  table,  I  suppose,  with  this  rub- 
bish. (To  Becky)  Go  back  to  your  garret.  [Becky  crosses, 
steals  off,  face  in  apron. 

MISS  MINCHIN  (to  Ermengarde).  Ermengarde,  put  those  things 
in  the  hamper.  (To  Sara)  As  for  you,  I  will  attend  to  you 
to-morrow.  You  shall  have  neither  breakfast,  dinner  nor 
supper ! 

SARA.  I've  had  neither  dinner  nor  supper  to-day,  Miss  Min- 
chin. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  Then  all  the  better.  You  will  have  something 
to  remember.  Don't  look  at  me  like  that.  (Sara  has  not 
taken  her  eyes  from  Miss  Minchin.  To  Ermengarde,  after  see- 
ing her  books  on  floor  —  Sara  front  of  table)  Ermengarde, 
you  have  brought  your  beautiful  new  books  into  this  dirty 
garret;  pick  them  up  and  go  back  to  bed.  You  will  stay 
there  all  to-morrow,  and  I  shall  write  to  your  papa.  What 
would  he  say,  if  he  knew  where  you  are  to-night? 

ERMENGARDE.   I  don't  know,  Miss  Minchin. 


48  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

MISS  MINCHIN.   Take  that  hamper. 

ERMENGARDE.   Yes,  Miss  Minchin.     (Does  so.     Exits,  turning 

at  door)    Cat 

[Noise  heard  of  her  falling  down  stairs. 

MISS  MINCHIN  (turning  on  Sara  fiercely).  What  are  you  think- 
ing of  —  why  do  you  stare  at  me  in  that  fashion? 

SARA  (quietly).   I  was  wondering. 

MISS  MINCHIN.   What? 

SARA  (not  pertly  but  sadly  and  quietly).  I  was  wondering  what 
my  papa  would  say  if  he  knew  where  I  am  to-night. 

MISS  MINCHIN  (threateningly).  You  insolent  minx,  how  dare 
you !  I  will  leave  you  to  wonder.  Go  to  bed  at  once.  [Exits. 

SARA  (left  alone,  takes  up  Emily,  sits  on  ottoman).  There  isn't 
any  party  left,  Emily  —  there  isn't  any  princess  —  there's 
nothing  left  but  the  prisoner  in  the  Bastille.  (Head  down  and 
cries  softly)  I  won't  cry.  (To  table  with  Emily)  I'll  go  to 
bed  and  sleep.  I  can't  pretend  any  more  to-night.  (Blows 
out  candle)  I  wish  I  could.  (Going  to  bed)  I'll  go  to  sleep 

and  perhaps  a  dream  will  come  to  pretend  for  me (Takes 

off  shoes  —  in  bed)  I'll  suppbse~a  little  to  make  it  easier. 
Suppose  there  was  a  bright  fire  in  that  grate  —  with  lots  of 
little  dancing  flames  —  suppose  there  was  a  soft  rug  on  the 
floor  and  that  was  a  comfortable  chair  —  and  suppose  the 

attic   was   furnished   in  lovely  colours (Voice  becomes 

dreamy)  And  suppose  there  was  a  little  table  by  the  fire 
with  a  little  hot  supper  on  it  —  and  suppose  this  was  a  beau- 
tiful soft  bed  with  white  sheets  and  fleecy  blankets  and  large 

downy  pillows  —  suppose — sup-p-ose — sup-po-se [Falls 

asleep. 

[Ram  Doss  appears  at  window  with  three  other  lascars.  He  car- 
ries one  dark  lantern.  Surveys  the  room,  sees  Sara  asleep,  raises 
window,  enters  with  others,  and  without  noise  makes  the  trick 
change,  bringing  everything  through  window.  First,  three  men 
help  Ram  Dass  to  clear  away  the  old  furniture.  After  furniture 
is  cleared,  Indian  stuff  is  brought  on  and  placed.  At  end  of 
change  three  lamps  are  brought  on.  Ram  Dass  lays  fire  in  grate 
and  before  lighting  same  stands  with  lighted  taper  in  front  of 


The  Little  Princess  49 

grate  which  is  signal  for  other  lascars  to  light  their  lamps.  Dis- 
covered, three  lascars  standing  by  their  respective  lamps  with 
folded  arms.  Ram  Dass  then  takes  books  from  tray  on  table, 
puts  them  on  cushions,  and  exits  through  window. 
[Sara  wakes  slowly,  sees  the  wonderful  change  and  is  bewil- 
dered. 

SARA.  What  a  nice  dream.  I  feel  quite  warm.  (Stretches  out 
arms,  feels  blanket  dreamily)  I  don't  want  to  wake  up  — 
(Trying  to  sleep)  Oh,  I  am  awakening.  (Opens  eyes,  sees 
everything  —  thinks  she  is  dreaming)  I  have  not  wakened. 
I'm  dreaming  yet.  (Looks  around  smiling,  bewildered  but 
waking)  It  does  not  melt  away,  —  it  stays.  I  never  had 
such  a  dream  before.  (Pushes  bedclothes  aside,  puts  feet  on 
floor,  smiling)  I  am  dreaming,  I'm  getting  out  of  bed. 
(Closes  eyes  as  she  gets  out,  as  if  to  prolong  dream;  then  opens 
eyes)  I'm  dreaming,  it  stays  real  —  I'm  dreaming,  it  feels 
real.  (Moves  forward,  staring  about  her)  It's  bewitched,  or 
I'm  bewitched.  (Words  hurrying  themselves)  I  only  think  I 
see  it  all.  But  if  I  can  only  keep  on  thinking  it,  I  don't 
care,  I  don't  care.  (Sudden  outburst  of  emotion.  Sees  fire 
and  runs  to  it)  A  fire,  a  little  supper.  (Kneels  at  fire  —  hands 
before  it)  A  fire  I  only  dreamed  wouldn't  be  hot.  (Jumping 
up,  sees  dressing-gown  and  slippers)  A  dressing-gown!  (Hold- 
ing it  to  face,  then  putting  it  on)  It  is  real  —  it  is,  it  must  be. 
It's  warm,  it's  soft.  (Puts  feet  in  slippers,  cries  out)  Slip- 
pers —  they  are  real  too.  They  are  real,  it's  all  real.  I  am 
not  —  I  am  not  dreaming.  (Sees  books  on  cushions.  Runs  to 

them)    Books,  books (Opens  one,  turns  over  leaves  rapidly) 

Some  one  has  written  something.  Oh,  what  is  it?  (Runs  to 
lamp.  Reads  aloud)  "To  the  little  girl  in  the  garret,  from  a 
friend."  (Clasping  book  to  her  breast,  grabs  up  Emily  and 

hugs  her)    Oh  Emily,  oh  papa (Kneels)    Papa,  I  have 

a  friend,  I  have  a  friend! 

CURTAIN 


50  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

ACT  III 

SCENE.  Mr.  Carrisford's  study  in  house  next  door  to  Miss 
Minchin's  seminary  for  young  ladies.  Room  handsomely  fur- 
nished. Window  looks  out  on  winter  street.  Chairs,  bric-a-brac 
cabinet,  curtains,  with  soft  cushions  on  window  seat,  lady's  writ- 
ing-desk, fireplace  with  fire-dogs.  A  table  with  books  on  it,  and  a 
big '  armchair  nearby.  Oriental  rugs  on  floor  with  a  tiger's  head 
rug  for  Donald.  Large  sofa  beside  baby  grand  piano.  Noah's 
ark  with  animals  in  it. 

At  the  rise  of  curtain:    Door  opens.    Enter  Ram  Dass,  followed 
by  Donald,  Mazie,  Nora,  and  Janet   Carmichael.     Ram  Dass 
stands  up  stage.    Donald  with  a  whoop  sits  on  tiger's  head.    Mazie 
and  Nora  to  piano,  to  play  with  toys  in  ark. 
JANET.   Please  tell  Mr.  Carrisford  we  can  wait  as  long  as  he 
likes.     We'll  go  away  if  he  doesn't  want  us.     We're  only 
come  to  cheer  him  up  a  little. 
RAM  DASS.   The  Sahib  will  be  glad.    I  go.    [Exits. 
DONALD.   I'll  sit  here  on  the  tiger's  head.    Gee  up  —  gee  up  — 

gee  up!    I'm  on  the  tiger's  head. 

JANET.  Now,  Donald,  you  must  remember.  Mr.  Carrisford  has 
been  very  ill,  and  when  you  come  to  cheer  up  a  person  who  is 
ill  you  don't  cheer  him  up  at  the  top  of  your  voice. 
DONALD  (riding  tiger's  head).  Well,  I  can  cheer  him  up  better 
when  I'm  sitting  on  the  tiger's  head  than  I  can  on  a  chair. 
Gee  up  -  [Falls  of. 

JANET.  You  can  sit  there,  if  you'll  be  quiet.  (Crosses  and  sits 
in  chair)  Mr.  Carrisford  is  very  anxious  to-day.  He  is  wait- 
ing for  papa  to  come  back  from  Paris.  Mamma  said  we 
might  help  pass  the  time  for  him  —  becau.se  he  likes  us  when 
we're  quiet.  (At  piano  with  animals)  I'm  going  to  be  quiet. 
MAZIE  (with  her).  So  am  I. 

DONALD  (riding  tiger  boisterously) .   We'll  all  be  as  quiet  as  mice. 
JANET  (to  him).   Mice  don't  make  a  noise  like  that. 
DONALD.   A  whole  lot  of  mice  might.    A  thousand  mice  might. 
JANET  (severely).   I  don't  believe  fifty  thousand  mice  might. 
And  we  have  to  be  as  quiet  as  one  mouse.    I'm  the  oldest 


The  Little  Princess  51 

and  I'm  responsible.     [Mazie  gets  down  from  the  piano,  and 

pushes  Donald  off  tiger's  head  on  to  the  floor.     He  retaliates 

by  pushing  her  off  on  to  floor. 
MAZIE.   Oh,  Donald,  you  are  rough! 
DONALD.   You  pushed  me  off,  I  pushed  you  off.    [Sits  on  tiger 

again. 
JANET  (arranges  pillows).   Now,  that  will  be  ready  for  him  when 

Ram  Dass  brings  him  in,  poor  thing.     (Leans  head  on  hands 

on  table)    Oh  dear,  I  wish  papa  would  come.    I  do  hope  he 

will  say  he  has  found  the  lost  little  girl. 
DONALD.   Yes. 

NORA.   Perhaps  he  will  bring  her  back  from  Paris. 
DONALD.   I  wish  he  would.    She  could  tell  us  about  when  her 

papa  shot  this  tiger  in  India.    Mr.  Carrisford  said  Captain 

Crewe  shot  it. 

MAZIE.   I  want  her  to  be  found  because  I  want  to  play  with  her. 
NORA.   I  want  her  to  be  found  because  I'm  sorry  for  her. 
JANET.    I'm  sorry  for  her.     Perhaps  she's  a  poor  little  beggar 

in  the  streets.     She  has  no  father  and  no  mother,  and  Mr. 

Carrisford  does  not  know  where  she  is.    He  only  thinks  she 

was  sent  to  a  boarding-school  in  Paris.    [Donald  throws  ani- 
mals into  ark. 

CHILDREN.   Oh,  ah,  Donald! 

NORA.   Papa  has  been  to  ever  so  many  schools  to  look  for  her. 
MAZIE.   But  he  could  never  find  her. 
JANET.   But  he  went  to  Paris  on  Thursday  because  he  heard  of 

a  school  where  there  was  a  little  girl  whose  papa  died  in 

India.    If  he  doesn't  find  her  this  time,  he  says  he  shall  not 

know  what  to  do.    [Donald  bangs  the  piano. 
JANET  AND  MAZIE.   Oh,  Donald,  Donald! 
NORA.   Oh,  I  wish  it  was  time  for  him  to  come.     (To  window) 

Perhaps  she  is  cold  and  miserable  somewhere.    And  all  the 

while,  Mr.  Carrisford  wants  her  so  much. 
MAZIE  (tearfully).   Perhaps  she's  out  in  the  wet  in  bare  feet  and 

torn  frock.    It  makes  me  want  to  cry. 
DONALD  (taking  stage  manfully).   I  say,  if  papa  doesn't  bring 

her  back  from  Paris,  let's  all  go  and  look  for  her,  —  every 


52  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

one  of  us.    Let's  go  to  the  park  and  stand  at  the  gate,  and 

every  time  we  see  a  little  girl  let's  ask  her  what  her  name  is. 
JANET  (desperately).   We  can't  let  her  stay  lost  and  be  poor  al- 
ways when  she  ought  to  be  so  rich  and  live  in  such  a  beau* 

tiful  house.    I  can't  bear  it. 

[Door  opens.    Enter  Carrisford  and  Ram  Dass.    They  cross  to 

armchair. 
CHILDREN  (when  they  see  him).   Oh,  Mr.  Carrisford,  there  you 

are!    Oh,  how  do  you  do.    [Running  to  him  and  leading  him 

down. 
CARRISFORD.   How  do  you  do,  my  dears;  it's  very  good  of  you 

to  come  and  see  me. 
CHILDREN.   Oh,  no! 
NORA.   We  like  to  come. 
JANET  (who  has  fixed  pillows  for  Carrisford).   Mamma  said  we 

might  come  and  see  you  on  our  way  from  the  party. 
MAZIE.   We  wanted  to  show  you  our  party  frocks. 
DONALD.   We're  not  going  to  make  a  noise.    [Blows  whistle. 
CARRISFORD.   Oh,  dear  me,  let  me  see  —  how  smart  you  all  are. 

Let  me  look  at  you.    [Donald  struts,  showing  coat  and  pants. 
DONALD.   Would  you  like  to  see  the  back?    [Showing  it. 
NORA.   Mamma  lent  me  her  locket. 
MAZIE  (showing  frock).   Mine  is  quite  a  new  frock. 
DONALD.   I  have  four  pockets.      (Showing  them)     One,  two, 

three (Loses  fourth;  suddenly  finds  it)    Ah,  four. 

CARRISFORD.   I  have  only  two. 

DONALD.   Oh,  ho,  he  has  only  two! 

JANET.   Do  you  think  you  are  any  better,  Mr.  Carrisford? 

CARRISFORD.   I'm  afraid  not,  Janet.     I'm  anxious  and  it  isn't 

good  for  me.    I  shall  be  better  if  your  papa  brings  me  good 

news.    Ram  Dass,  you  may  go.    [Exit  Ram  Dass. 
NORA.   He  won't  be  long  now.    When  he  comes  from  Paris,  he 

always  comes  in  the  afternoon. 
DONALD.   I  say,  I'll  go  to  the  window  and  watch  for  the  cab. 

Mazie,  you  come  and  watch  too. 
JANET.   Mr.  Carrisford,  do  you  think  he  will  come  back  and 

say  he  has  found  the  lost  little  girl? 


The  Little  Princess  53 

CARRISFORD.  I  hope  so,  Janet,  I  hope  so.  I  shall  be  very  un- 
happy if  he  does  not. 

NORA.  Do  you  think  that  perhaps  she  is  so  poor  that  she  is 
begging  in  the  streets  this  very  minute  —  while  we  are  wait- 
ing for  her  to  be  found? 

CARRISFORD  (startled  and  miserable).  I  hope  not  —  I  hope  not 
—  Heaven  knows  what  she  may  be  doing.  That  is  what 
makes  me  so  miserable. 

DONALD  (shouts  from  window}.  Here's  a  cab,  here's  a  cab 

ALL.   Oh 

DONALD.  I  believe  it's  going  to  stop  here.  (Carrisford  rises, 
partly  turns  up  stage.  Nora  and  Janet  rise)  Oh,  no,  it  isn't, 
and  there's  only  a  fat  old  lady  in  it  with  a  blue  bonnet  on. 
[Carrisford  sinks  back  into  chair. 

JANET.   Oh,  Donald,  you  must  be  careful. 

DONALD.  I  was  careful.  It  was  a  cab.  The  cabman  looked  at 
this  house  when  the  umbrella  was  poked  out. 

CARRISFORD  (pats  Janet*  s  hand).  You  are  a  nice  little  girl, 
Janet.  Thank  you. 

JANET  (kneels  beside  him).  I  wish  I  could  cheer  you  up  until 
papa  does  come  —  but  when  anyone  feels  ill  perhaps  cheer- 
ing up  is  too  loud. 

CARRISFORD.   Oh,  no,  no 

JANET.   May  we  talk  about  the  little  girl? 

CARRISFORD.  I  don't  think  I  can  talk  about  anything  else  just 
now. 

NORA.  We  like  her  so  much.  We  call  her  the  little  lost  Prin- 
cess. 

CARRISFORD.   Do  you,  —  why? 

JANET.  Because  she  will  be  so  rich  when  she  is  found  that  she 
will  be  quite  like  a  little  princess.  Is  it  true  that  her  papa 
gave  all  of  his  money  to  one  of  his  friends  to  spend  in  a  mine 
that  had  diamonds  in  it  —  and  then  his  friend  thought  he 
had  lost  all  and  ran  away  because  he  felt  as  if  he  was  a  rob- 
ber? 

NORA.   But  he  wasn't  really,  you  know! 

CARRISFORD.   No,  he  wasn't  really.    The  mine  turned  out  well 


54  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

after  all.     But  it  was  too  late.     Captain  Crewe  was  dead. 

If  he  had  lived  he  and  his  little  girl  would  have  been  very 

rich  indeed. 

JANET.   I'm  sorry  for  the  friend. 
CARRISFORD.   Are  you? 
JANET.    I  can't  help  it. 
CARRISFORD.   I  am  sorry  for  him  too.    /  am  the  friend,  Janet. 

JANET.   Oh,  de-ar Poor  Mr.  Carrisford. 

NORA.   Oh,  papa  must  find  her! 

JANET.   Yes,  he  must  find  her! 

DONALD  (from  window,  dancing  up  and  down  in  seat  with  Mazie) . 

Here  he  is,  here  he  is. 

ALL.   Oh,  ah 

CARRISFORD  (trying  to  rise).   I  wish  I  could  get  up,  but  it's  no 

use,  I  cannot,  I  cannot [Nora  and  Janet  to  window. 

JANET  (coming  down).   But  there  isn't  any  little  girl.     [Enter 

Ram  Dass. 

RAM  DASS.   Sahib,  Mr.  Carmichael  is  at  the  door. 
ALL.   May  we  go? 

CARRISFORD.   Yes,  yes,  go,  go [Children  exeunt  running,  fol- 
lowed by  Ram  Dass. 

CARMICHAEL  (outside) .   No,  no,  children.    Net  now 

CHILDREN.   Daddy,  daddy 

CARMICHAEL.   Not  now,  —  you  can  come  in  after  I  have  talked 

with  Mr.  Carrisford.    Go  away  and  play  with  Ram  Dass. 
CHILDREN.   All  right.    [Enter  Carmichael. 
CARRISFORD   (shaking  hands).   I  am  glad  to  see  you  —  very 

glad.    Pray  sit  down.    What  news  do  you  bring? 
CARMICHAEL  (sits).   No  good  news,  I  am  sorry  to  say.    I  went 

to  the  school  in  Paris  and  saw  the  little  girl.    But  she  is  not 

the  child  you  are  searching  for. 

CARRISFORD.   Then  the  search  must  begin  all  over  again. 
CARMICHAEL.    I'm  afraid  so. 

CARRISFORD.   Have  you  any  new  suggestions  to  make? 
CARMICHAEL.   Well,  perhaps.    Are  you  quite  sure  the  child  was 

put  in  a  school  in  Paris? 
CARRISFORD.   My  dear  fellow,  I  am  sure  of  nothing. 


The  Little  Princess  55 

CABMICHAEL.   But  you  thought  the  school  was  in  Paris? 
CARRISFORD.   Because  her  mother  was  a  French  woman,  and 

had  wished  that  the  child  should  be  educated  in  Paris.    It 

seemed  only  likely  that  she  should  be  there. 
CARMICHAEL.    I  assure  you  I  have  searched  the  schools  in  Paris 

thoroughly.     The  journey  I  have  just  returned  from  was 

really  my  last  hope. 
CARRISFORD.    Carmichael,  I  must  find  her,  —  I  shall  never  get 

well  until  I  do  find  her  and  give  her  the  fortune  the  mine 

has  made.     It  is  hers,  and  she,  poor  child,  may  be  begging 

in  the  streets.    Poor  Crewe  put  into  the  scheme  every  penny 

he  owned,  and  he  died  thinking  I  had  ruined  him. 
CARMICHAEL.    You  were  not  yourself  at  the  time.     You  were 

stricken  with  brain  fever  two  days  after  you  left  the  place 

—  remember  that. 
CARRISFORD.   Yes,  and  when  I  returned  to  consciousness,  poor 

Crewe  was  dead. 
CARMICHAEL.   You  did  not  remember  the  child;  you  did  not 

speak  of  her  for  months. 

CARRISFORD.    No,  I  had  forgotten,  and  now  I  shall  never  re- 
member. 

CARMICHAEL.    Come,  come.    We  shall  find  her  yet.    [Rises. 
CARRISFORD.   We   will   find  her   if   we   search   every   city   in 

Europe.    Help  me  to  find  her.    [Shake  hands. 
CARMICHAEL.   We  will  find  her.     As  you  say  —  if  she  is  alive 

she  is  somewhere.     We  have  searched  the  schools  in  Paris. 

Let  us  try  London. 
CARRISFORD.    There  are  schools  enough  in  London.     By  the 

way,  there  is  one  next  door. 
CARMICHAEL.   Then  we  will  begin  there.     We  cannot  begin 

nearer  than  next  door. 
CARRISFORD.   There's  a  child  there  who  interests  me.    But  she 

is  not  a  pupil.     (Enter  Ram  Dass)     She  is  a  little  forlorn 

creature  as  unlike  poor  Crewe  as  a  child  could  be.     Well, 

Ram  Dass? 

RAM  DASS.   Sahib,  the  child,  she  herself  has  come  —  the  child 

the  Sahib  felt  pity  for.     She  brings  back  the  monkey  who 


56  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

had  again  run  away  to  her  garret.  I  have  asked  that  she 
remain.  It  was  my  thought  that  it  would  please  the  Sahib 
to  see  and  speak  with  her. 

CARMICHAEL.    Who  is  she? 

CARRISFORD.  God  knows.  She  is  the  child  I  spoke  of.  (To 
Ram  Dass)  Yes,  yes,  I  should  like  to  see  her.  [Children 
enter,  except  Donald,  crying  and  dancing  with  joy. 

JANET.  Mr.  Carrisford,  Mr.  Carrisford,  papa,  papa,  the  little 
girl,  she's  the  little  girl  we  saw  at  the  school 

CARMICHAEL  AND  CARRISFORD.    At  the  school? 

NORA.   She  was  quite  a  rich  little  girl  in  a  beautiful  frock. 

MAZIE.   And  now  she's  poor  and  thin  and  ragged  —  at  least 
almost  ragged. 
[Enter  Mrs.  Carmichael. 

MRS.  CARMICHAEL.  My  dears,  my  dears,  what  are  you  talking 
about  —  all  at  once? 

JANET.  It's  the  little  girl  who  made  up  names  about  us  —  and 
now  she's  quite  poor  and  shabby. 

MAZIE.   She  brought  the  monkey  back. 

DONALD  (runs  on — joining  clamour).  I  say,  I  say,  she  won't 
come  in,  she  won't  come  in, — I  want  her  to  come  in! 
She  talked  Indian  to  Ram  Dass,  but  she  won't  come  in. 
[During  this  he  jumps  behind  Mr.  Carrisford,  pulls  his  bath 
robe  —  is  taken  away  by  his  father. 

CARRISFORD  (to  Ram  Dass).   She  spoke  Hindustani? 

RAM  DASS.   Yes,  Sahib,  a  few  words. 

CARRISFORD.   Ask  her  to  come  here.    [Exit  Ram  Dass. 

CARMICHAEL  (to  Carrisford).  You  must  compose  yourself.  Re- 
member your  weakness.  The  fact  that  the  child  knows  a 
little  Hindustani  may  mean  nothing.  Don't  prepare  your- 
self for  another  disappointment. 

CARRISFORD.     No,  no. 

CARMICHAEL  (to  Donald) .   Here,  you  young  rascal. 

[Spanking.    Enter  Sara  with  monkey  in  arm. 
MRS.  CARMICHAEL.   I  believe  it  is  the  same  child,  but  I  should 

not  have  known  her. 
SARA.   Your  monkey  got  away  again.    He  came  to  my  garret 


The  Little  Princess  57 

window  and  I  took  him  in  last  night.    I  would  have  brought 

him  back  if  it  had  not  been  so  late.    I  knew  you  were  ill  and 

might  not  like  to  be  disturbed. 
CARRISFORD.   That  was  very  thoughtful  of  you. 
SARA.   Shall  I  give  him  to  the  lascar? 
CARRISFORD.   How  do  you  know  he  is  a  lascar? 
SARA.   Oh,  I  know  lascars.    I  was  born  hi  India. 
CARRISFORD  (excited).   Were  you?    (Holds  out  his  hand)    Come 

here.     (To  Ram  Dass)    Ram  Dass,  take  the  monkey  away. 

(Exit  Ram  Dass  with  monkey.     To  Sara)     Come,  you  live 

next  door,  do  you  not? 
SARA.   Yes,  sir,  I  live  at  Miss  Minchin's. 
CARRISFORD.    She  keeps  a  boarding-school.    But  you  are  not  a 

pupil,  are  you? 

SARA.   I  don't  know  what  I  am. 
CARRISFORD.   Why  not? 

SARA.   At  first  I  was  a  pupil  and  a  parlour-boarder,  but  now 

CARRISFORD.   What  now? 

SARA.   I  sleep  in  the  garret  next  to  the  scullery-maid.     I  run 

errands    for   the   cook  and    I    teach   the    little   ones   their 

lessons. 

MRS.  CARMICHAEL  (to  Mr.  Carmichael).    Poor  little  thing. 
CARRISFORD  (gestures  to  Carmichael  as  if  agitation  was  too  much 

for  him).   Question  her,  Carmichael,  —  I  cannot. 
CARMICHAEL.   What  do  you  mean  by  "at  first,"  my  child? 
SARA  (turning  to  him).   When  I  was  first  taken  there  by  papa. 
CARMICHAEL.   Where  is  your  father? 
SARA.   My  papa  died.     He  lost  all  his  money,  and  there  was 

none  left  for  me,  and  so 

CARRISFORD.   Carmichael ! 

CARMICHAEL  (pantomime  with  wife) .   And  so  —  you  were  sent 

up  into  the  garret  and  made  a  little  drudge?    That's  about 

it,  isn't  it? 
SARA.  There  was  no  one  to  take  care  of  me.     I  belong  to 

nobody. 
CARRISFORD  (breaking  in).   How  —  how  —  did  your  father  lose 

his  money? 


58  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

SARA.  He  didn't  lose  it  himself.  He  had  a  friend  he  was  very 
fond  of  —  he  was  very  fond  of  him  —  it  was  his  friend  who 
took  his  money.  I  don't  know  how.  (To  Carmwhael)  I 
don't  understand.  (To  Carrisford)  He  trusted  his  friend  too 
much. 

CARRISFORD  (agitated).  But  the  friend  might  not  have  meant 
to  do  harm.  It  might  have  happened  through  a  mistake. 

SARA.  But  the  suffering  was  just  as  bad  for  my  papa.  It 
killed  him 

CARRISFORD  (faints).   Carmichael! 

[Confusion.    Carmwhael  goes  to  Carrisford.    Sara  stands  before 
them,  bewildered;  she  picks  up  shawl  and  starts  to  go. 

SARA.   I  think  I  had  better  go. 

CARRISFORD  (recovering).   Stay.    What  was  your  father's  name? 

SARA.   His  name  was  Ralph  Crewe 

CARRISFORD.     Oh 

SARA.  Captain  Crewe  —  perhaps  you  knew  him.  He  died  in 
India. 

CARRISFORD.   Yes,  yes,  yes  —  Carmichael,  it  is  the  child! 

SARA  (looking  from  Carrisford  to  Carmichael,  trembling).  What 
does  he  mean?  What  child  am  I? 

CARRISFORD.  I  was  your  father's  friend  —  he  loved  me  —  he 
trusted  me  —  if  he  had  lived  he  would  have  known  —  but 
now [Sinks  back. 

MRS.  CARMICHAEL  (to  Sara).   My  dear  little  girl.    My  poor  lit- 
tle girl! 
[Children  start  to  go  to  Sara;  Janet  stops  them. 

SARA.  Did  he  know  my  papa?  Was  he  the  wicked  friend? 
Oh,  do  tell  me! 

MRS.  CARMICHAEL.  He  was  not  wicked,  my  dear;  he  did  not 
really  lose  your  papa's  money  —  he  only  thought  he  had  lost 
it  —  he  was  ill  —  and  when  he  got  well  —  your  poor  papa 
was  dead,  and  he  didn't  know  where  to  find  you. 

SARA.   And  I  was  at  Miss  Minchin's  all  the  time. 

MRS.  CARMICHAEL.  Yes,  he  saw  you  pass  by,  and  he  was  sorry 
for  you,  and  he  told  Ram  Dass  to  climb  through  your  attic 
window  and  try  to  make  you  comfortable  — 


The  Little  Princess  59 

SARA  (joyfully).  Did  Rain  Dass  bring  the  things,  —  did  he  tell 
Ram  Dass  to  do  it?  Did  he  make  the  dream  that  came  true? 

MRS.  CARMICHAEL.  Yes  —  yes  —  my  dear  —  he  did.  He  is 
kind  and  good,  and  was  sorry  for  you. 

SARA  (going  to  Carrisford) .  You  sent  the  things  to  me  —  the 
beautiful  things  —  the  beautiful,  beautiful  things  —  you  sent 
them? 

CARRISFORD.   Yes  —  poor  dear  child  —  I  did. 

SARA.   Then  it  is  you  who  are  my  friend.    [Kneels  to  Carrisford. 

SERVANT  (outside).  Pardon  me,  Madam,  but  Mr.  Carrisford  is 
not  well  enough  to  see  visitors. 

MISS  MINCHIN  (partly  off  stage) .  I  am  sorry  (enters  door)  to  dis- 
turb Mr.  Carrisford,  but  I  must  see  him  at  once.  I  have  ex- 
planations to  make.  (Meeting  Carmichael)  I  am  Miss  Min- 
chin,  the  proprietress  of  "  The  Young  Ladies'  Seminary"  next 
door. 

CARMICHAEL.   So  you  are  Miss  Minchin? 

MISS  MINCHIN.   I  am,  sir. 

CARMICHAEL.    In  that  case  you  have  arrived  at  the  right  time. 

MISS  MINCHIN.  I  have  come  to  explain  that  an  insolent  charity 
pupil  of  mine  has  intruded  here  without  my  knowledge. 
[Sees  Sara. 

CARRISFORD  (to  Sara).   There,  there,  it's  all  right. 

MISS  MINCHIN.   You  are  here  still  —  the  forwardness  of  such 
conduct  —  (indignantly)  go  home  at  once  —  you  shall  be  se- 
verely punished!    Go  home  at  once,  at  once! 
[Sara  rises  and  starts  to  go. 

JANET.   Oh,  please  don't  let  her  go. 

ALL  CHILDREN  (going  to  Mr.  Carrisford).  Oh,  please  don't  let 
her  go! 

CARRISFORD.   No,  no  —  she  is  not  going. 

ALL  CHILDREN.     Ah 

[Children  back  to  sofa. 

MISS  MINCHIN.   Not  going 

CARRISFORD.   No,  Miss  Minchin.     She  is  not  going  home  —  if 

you  give  your  house  that  name.    Her  home  for  the  future 

will  be  with  me. 


60  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for.  Children 

MISS  MINCHIN.   With  you,  with  you,  —  what  does  this  mean? 
CARRISFORD.   That  she  is  done  with  you,  Madam,  —  with  you 

and  her  misery  and  her  garret. 
MISS  MINCHIN.   I  am  dumbfounded.    Such  insults.     (To  Sard) 

This  is  your  doing  —  come  back  to  the  school  at  once.    [Starts 

forward  as  though  to  take  her. 

CARMICHAEL  (coming  down).   That  will  not  do,  Miss  Minchin. 
MISS  MINCHIN  (violently).   Not  do?,  How  dare  you  interfere! 

(To  Carrisford)    How  dare  you?    She  shall  go  back  if  I  have 

to  call  in  the  police. 
CARRISFORD.   The  lady  is  too  violent  for  me,  Carmichael,  — 

please  explain  to  her. 
CARMICHAEL.     I  am  Mr.  Carrisford's  lawyer,  Madam.     Mr. 

Carrisford  was  an  intimate  friend  of  the  late  Captain  Crewe 

—  the  fortune  which  Captain  Crewe  supposed  he  had  lost  is 

in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Carrisford. 
MISS  MINCHIN  (startled).   The  fortune  —  Sara's  fortune?    [Turns, 

and  stares  aghast  at  Sara. 
CARMICHAEL.   It  will  be  Sara's  fortune  —  it  is  Sara's  fortune 

now. 
MISS  MINCHIN  (to  Carmichael).   Captain  Crewe  left  her  in  my 

charge.    She  must  return  to  it  until  she  is  of  age.    The  law 

will  interfere  in  my  behalf. 
CARMICHAEL.   No,  the  law  will  not,  Miss   Minchin.     Captain 

Crewe  constituted  Mr.  Carrisford  her  guardian  long  ago.    If 

Sara  herself  wishes  to  return  to  you,  I  dare  say  he  would  not 

refuse  her.    But  that  rests  with  Sara. 
MISS  MINCHIN.   Then  I  appeal  to  Sara.    (To  Sara)    I  have  not 

spoiled  you,  perhaps,  but  I  have  always  been  very  fond  of 

you. 

SARA.   Have  you,  Miss  Minchin?     I  did  not  know  that 

MISS  MINCHIN.   Yes.    Will  you  not  do  your  duty  to  your  poor 

papa  and  come  home  with  me? 
SARA  (steps  forward).   No,  I  will  not.     You  know  why  I  will 

not    go   home  with  you,   Miss    Minchin,   you   know 

[This  spoken  quietly,  steadily,  and  politely,  looking  squarely 

at  her. 


The  Little  Princess  61 

MISS  MINCHIN  (spitefully).   Then  you  will  never  see  your  little 

companions  again,  —  Ermengarde  and  Lottie. 
CARMICHAEL.   Oh,  yes,  she  will,  she  will  see  any  one  she  wishes 

in  her  guardian's,  house. 

[Miss  Minchin  goes  wraihfully  to  Carmichael. 
CARRISFORD.   Ram  Dass  —  show  this  lady  out.    (Miss  Minchin 

makes  for  Carrisford)    That  is  all,  Miss  Minchin  —  your  bill 

will  be  paid. 

[Miss  Minchin  looks  around  and,  putting  shawl  over  head,  exits. 

Donald  whistles. 
CHILDREN  (delightedly).   Good-bye. 

[Ram  Dass  follows  her  off. 
SARA  (goes  toward  Carrisford,  drawing  in  breath;  shuts  eyes  and 

then  opens  them  wide  with  wondering  expression,  like  waking 

from  dream  of  night  before).   I  —  I  —  did  not  wake  up  from 

the  other  —  last  —  night  —  that  was  real.     I  shall  not  wake 

up  from  this,  shall  I? 

CARRISFORD.   No,  no,  you  shall  never  wake  up  again  to  any- 
thing that  is  not  happiness. 
SARA.   But  there  was  another  little  girl  —  she  was  as  lonely 

and  cold  and  hungry  as  I  was  —  could  you  save  her  too? 
CARRISFORD.   Yes,  indeed.    Who  was  she? 
SARA.   Her  name  is  Becky  —  she  is  the  scullery-maid.    She  has 

no  one  but  me,  and  she  will  miss  me  so.    She  was  the  pris- 
oner in  the  next  cell. 
CARRISFORD.   You  shall  take  care  of  her  —  Carmichael  —  (who 

turns)  will  bring  back  to  us  the  prisoner  in  the  next  cell. 
CHILDREN  (rushing  around  her).   You're  found  —  you're  found, 

—  we  are  so  glad  you're  found !    [All  joyfully. 
SARA.   I  didn't  know  I  was  lost,  and  now  I'm  found  I  can't 

quite  believe  it. 
MRS.  CARMICHAEL.   What  shall  we  do  to  make  her  feel  that  her 

troubles  are  over  and  that  she  may  be  happy  as  she  used  to 

be? 
DONALD.   I  say,  you  said  you  would  tell  us  a  story.    Tell  us 

one  now. 
SARA.   Shall  I? 


62  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

ALL.   Yes,  oh,  yes,  a  story. 

SARA.   Just  as  I  used  to ? 

CHILDREN.   Just  as  you  used  to. 

SARA.   Well, once  upon  a  time,   long,   long  ago  —  there 

lived  a  little  Princess 

CURTAIN 


ABOUT  THE  SILVER  THREAD 

There  is  no  one  who  knows  more  about  how  children's  plays 
should  be  given  than  Constance  D'Arcy  Mackay.  She  has  not 
only  written  all  sorts  of  plays  for  all  sorts  of  occasions  — 
dramas  and  pageants  and  masques;  but  she  has  also  prepared 
books  of  practical  suggestions  for  costumes,  music  and  scenery 
—  in  other  words,  she,  as  a  settlement  and  community  worker, 
has  kept  in  touch  with  the  drama  demands  of  town  and  coun- 
try, and  has  served  as  adviser  for  many  patriotic  celebrations. 
She  occupied  the  post  of  Director  of  the  Department  of  Pag- 
eantry and  Drama  in  the  War  Camp  Community  Service  (1918- 
1919). 

Pictorially,  her  little  plays  lend  themselves  to  excellent 
adornment.  Her  eye  is  drawn  to  the  pageant,  processional 
character  of  the  "new"  theater  which  democracy  is  feeling 
for.  So  that  we  find  her  plays  pleasing,  not  alone  to  young 
people,  but  to  grown  folks  as  well.  For  instance,  she  writes 
me  that  "The  Silver  Thread"  has  graced  the  repertories  of 
various  Children's  Theaters  and  Little  Theaters,  but  has  also 
been  given  by  the  students  of  Radcliffe  and  the  University  of 
Pittsburgh.  In  all  she  writes,  she  seems  to  be  fully  aware  of 
the  value  of  folk-lore  and  legend  and  history.  Her  foreword  to 
"The  Silver  Thread"  would  indicate  this. 

Read  Miss  Mackay's  "The  Three  Wishes,"  in  her  volume, 
"The  Silver  Thread  and  Other  Folk  Plays"  (Holt),  and  com- 
pare it  with  Mrs.  Williamson's  version  of  a  similar  theme  in 
this  "Treasury." 


THE  SILVER  THREAD 

A  CORNISH  FOLK  PLAY  IN  THREE  ACTS 


BY  CONSTANCE  D'ARCY  MACKAY 


CAST 


CUBERT,  a  Miner  Lad 
DAME  MORNA,  his  Mother 
THE    WOMAN   FROM   BEYOND 

THE  HILLS 

THE  PRINCESS  GWENDA 
KING  RADNOR,  her  Father 
MABINA,  her  Nurse 
ALCIE,  another  of  the  Princess's 

Attendants 
GUNDRED, 
THORWALD,  i-  Castle  Guards 

SOLBERG,        j 

TIME  :    The  mythical  age. 


KING  SHADOWCOB 
PRINCE  SLUMPKIN 
MOTTLESNOUT,  Lord  High 

Chancellor 
TROLL, 
KOLL 
RATKIN, 
CLAWFOOT, 
MOLE'S  EAR, 
SHAG, 

OTHER      GOBLINS,       CASTLE 
GUARDS,      MAIDS-IN-WAIT- 
ING 
SEASON:   The  Spring. 


-  Goblins 


PLACE:  A  Kingdom  West  of  the  Moon  and  East  of  the  Sun; 
yet  not  too  far  from  the  rock-bound  hills  of  Cornwall. 

ACT  I.    SCENE  i.     Gilbert's  home  on  a  late    afternoon  in 

Spring. 
SCENE  n.    The  Goblins'  forge  room. 

ACT  II.     The  Bedroom  of  the  Princess.     (The  same  night.) 

ACT  III.     SCENE  i.    The  Goblins'  council  hall.     (The  small 

hours  of  the  following  morning.) 
SCENE  n.    Cubert's  home  as  in  Act  I. 


COPYRIGHT,  1910,  BY  HENRT  HOLT  AND  COMPANY. 

"The  Silver  Thread"  is  reprinted  from  "The  Silver  Thread  and  Other  Folk  Plays  for 
Young  People",  by  Constance  D'Arcy  Mackay,  by  permission  of  and  special  arrangement 
with  the  publishers,  Henry  Holt  and  Company,  New  York. 

Amateurs  may  produce  this  play  without  charge.  Professional  actors  should  apply 
for  acting  rights  to  the  author,  in  care  of  the  publishers. 


THE  SILVER  THREAD 

SOURCE 

ALTHOUGH  this  play  is  partly  founded  on  MacDonald's  well- 
known  fairy  tale,  it  has  its  roots  deep  in  Cornish  soil,  where 
the  spriggans  or  goblins  were  said  to  live  in  the  mines,  and 
where,  up  to  as  late  as  1869,  the  miners  still  believed  in  them 
and  spoke  of  them  as  the  "small  people"  or  "knockers,"  the 
latter  name  being  given  them  from  the  fact  that  strange  sounds 
were  heard  in  the  mines  at  night,  curious  tappings  which  the 
miners  attributed  to  the  spriggans'  picks.  Lights  also  were 
seen  moving  about  the  dark  passages  of  the  mines  —  tiny  lan- 
terns carried  by  goblin  fingers!  Indeed,  these  eerie  creatures 
dominate  the  greater  part  of  Cornish  folk-lore.  That  the  sprig- 
gans had  tunnels  and  lodes  of  their  own  was  universally  be- 
lieved; else  how  account  for  the  winding  ways  the  miners 
sometimes  came  on,  deep,  deep  underground?  Often,  too, 
queer,  misshapen  tools  were  found,  such  as  mortals  never  work 
with.  These  may  have  accounted  for  the  tappings  the  night 
shifts  heard ;  for  the  goblins  were  reputed  to  sleep  by  day,  and 
only  commenced  their  labours  when  the  shadows  fell.  Amidst 
the  boulders  of  the  dark  and  rock-clad  hills  of  Morva  many 
goblins  were  said  to  lurk.  They  were  fond  of  working  mischief 
to  humans  (so  hearthstone  stories  ran!),  and  in  this  and  many 
other  ways  closely  resembled  the  trolls  of  Scandinavia. 

STAGE  SETTING 

There  are  two  ways  in  which  the  play  can  be  produced.  It 
may  be  given  on  the  well-equipped  stage  of  an  assembly  hall; 
or  in  the  schoolroom  itself.  The  larger  production  is  the  first 
one  to  be  considered.  While  the  stage  directions  call  for  three 


68  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

sets  of  scenery,  the  play  can  readily  be  given  with  one.  In 
this  case  the  set  for  the  Princess's  room  should  have  walls  of 
some  light  and  delicate  tint,  as  pretty  as  possible.  Then  the 
>  rough  side  of  the  set  can  beJturned  for  Cubert's  home,  as  the 
boards  and  props  will  be  quite  appropriate  for  a  meager  dwell- 
ing. If  this  rough  side  of  the  scene  is  painted  a  weather-stained 
gray,  it  can  be  made  to  serve  as  a  background  for  the  goblin 
scenes  by  banking  against  it  slabs  and  boulders  fashioned  of 
slate-coloured  cambric  tacked  over  boxes,  etc.  These  slabs 
should  as  nearly  as  possible  represent  the  kind  of  thing  seen 
in  professional  photographers'  rooms  where  "outdoor"  pic- 
tures are  taken.  Indeed,  a  photographer  might  be  induced  to 
lend  a  few  of  these,  which  make  a  splendidly  "stony"  interior. 
The  lights  are,  of  course,  turned  very  low  for  this  set,  to  make 
it  as  dark  as  possible.  The  Silver  Thread  can  be  made  of  fine 
silver  wire  lifted  into  sight  by  nearly  invisible  black  wires. 
For  the  schoolroom  stage  a  hearth  formed  of  wide  dry-goods 
boxes,  against  which  gray  cambric  is  bulked  to  represent  un- 
even stones,  marked  here  and  there  with  black  and  white 
chalk.  Embers  of  scarlet  tinsel,  and  red  and  black  paper.  A 
spinning-wheel  made  of  two  small-sized  wagon  wheels  fastened 
to  a  wooden  frame.  A  distaff  with  flax  on  it.  The  exit  should 
be  formed  by  screens  covered  with  gray  canvas  or  cambric.  A 
gray  curtain  should  be  hung  against  the  blackboard  for  a  back- 
ground, and  against  this  should  be  fastened  the  full  short 
chintz  curtains  that  represent  the  windows.  A  screen  with  a 
painted  scene  on  it  for  the  vista  glimpsed  through  the  open 
doorway.  When  the  play  begins  the  blinds  in  the  schoolroom 
should  be  lowered,  and  the  candles  lighted  on  the  table  of  the 
miniature  stage.  The  schoolroom  bookcase  may  be  used  for 
the  cupboard,  and  the  schoolroom  chairs  and  tables  will  form 
the  rest  of  the  furniture.  A  sheet  of  tin  will  make  the  thun- 
der-crashes. 

For  the  goblin  scenes  gray  boulders  formed  of  canvas  should 
be  grouped  against  the  gray  background.  A  forge  fashioned 
from  a  dry -goods  box  painted  black,  with  a  shaped  top  of  black 
cardboard.  If  red  electric  bulbs  could  be  turned  on  for  the 


The  Silver  Thread  69 

fire  beneath  it,  they  would  greatly  heighten  the  impression.  If 
these  cannot  be  had,  scarlet  tinsel  must  be  again  to  the  fore. 
The  tools  the  boys  will  be  able  to  fashion;  the  picks  have 
broom  handles,  and  the  iron  part  may  be  made  of  cardboard. 
The  torches  fastened  against  the  wall  should  be  of  gray  card- 
board, with  tinsel  and  scarlet  flames,  shaped  to  a  point. 

For  the  Princess's  bedroom^  scene  a  pretty^dressing-table  is 
required.  Failing  this,  boxes  draped  in  pale  blue  cambric. 
The  bed,  a  narrow  cot  with  a  pale  blue  cambric  cover.  Pale 
blue  hangings  for  supposed  windows.  On  no  account  should 
plush  or  rattan  chairs  be  used.  Ordinary  canvas-topped  camp 
stools  without  a  back  can  be  covered  in  pale  blue,  and  will 
take  up  less  room  than  the  average  furniture. 

For  the  entrance  of  the  Woman  from  Beyond  the  Hills  violin 
music  should  be  played  off  stage.  For  the  thunder  of  breaking 
waters  the  sheet  of  tin  will  come  into  requisition  a  second  time. 

This  play  has  already  been  used  in  the  schools  for  Group 
Reading  as  well  as  acting.  For  Group  Beading  the  teacher 
reads  the  scene  setting:  Then  the  list  of  characters  is  read, 
and  each  student  chooses  (or  has  chosen  for  him)  a  part.  To 
the  lines  of  this  part  he  adheres  throughout  the  play,  reading 
whenever  it  is  his  turn.  In  this  way  the  play  is  taken  as  a  les- 
son in  English,  the  urge  of  the  story  as  it  gathers  impetus 
making  for  clearer  enunciation. 

COSTUMES 

CUBERT.  Slate-gray  knee-breeches,  and  a  gray  shirt,  open 
at  the  neck. 

DAME  MORNA.  A  leaf-brown  dress,  ankle  length,  and  a 
crossed  kerchief  of  white. 

THE  WOMAN  FROM  BEYOND  THE  HILLS.  A  purple-gray  dress 
—  the  purple-gray  that  is  the  colour  of  far-off  hills.  A  cloak  of 
the  same,  hooded.  The  material  should  be  a  soft  woolen  cloth. 

PRINCESS  GWENDA.  When  she  first  enters,  a  white  woolen 
dress,  ankle  length,  falling  in  straight  folds  from  a  square 
neck.  A  border  of  cloth  of  gold  around  the  edge  of  dress,  and 
at  neck  and  sleeves.  If  handsome  materials  are  out  of  the 


70  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

question,  white  canton  flannel  and  gold  paper  fastened  to  it, 
will  serve.  A  cloak  of  rose  red. 

MABINA.  Dark-green  dress  with  square  neck  and  full  skirt, 
ankle  length.  Border  of  cream.  Lace  at  throat  and  at  elbow 
sleeves.  A  dark-green  cloak.  Pretty  slippers  and  stockings. 

ALCIE.  Cream-coloured  dress  the  same  style  as  Mabina's, 
bordered  in  cherry  colour. 

KING  RADNOR.  A  golden  helmet  (cardboard  and  gold  paper). 
White  plume.  Long  riding-cloak  of  purple  velvet. 

The  goblins  are  in  tight  black  goblin  suits.  All  those  who 
have  speaking  parts  have  some  distinguishing  mark;  Mole's 
Ear  has  velvet  ears;  Ratkin  has  fur  about  his  cap,  and  fur 
shoes.  King  Shadowcob  has  a  gray  beard,  and  a  gold  crown. 
Prince  Slumpkin  has  a  much  smaller  gold  crown.  The  castle 
maids-in-waiting  wear  the  plain  robes  with  trains  that  are 
seen  in  all  illustrated  fairy  tales  (Grimm  or  Andersen).  They 
should  be  of  soft  dull  colours  —  greens,  grays,  blues. 

The  guards  wear  silver  helmets  and  silver  breastplates  that 
join  other  bits  of  mail  on  the  shoulders,  running  out  towards 
the  arm  so  as  to  give  the  shoulders  great  width  (silver  paper 
stitched  to  canvas).  Cromwellian  looking  coats.  Tall  boots. 
The  costumes  are  buff  and  silver. 


THE   SILVER  THREAD 
ACT  I 

SCENE  I 

Cuberfs  home.  A  dean  and  somewhat  bare  room,  with  smoke- 
stained  walls  and  rafters. 

At  the  left  a  cobbled  fireplace,  and  above  it  a  deal  shelf  on  which 
are  a  few  earthenware  plates  and  cups,  and  a  couple  of  pewter 
candlesticks.  On  the  hearthstone  below  a  bellows  and  tongs.  Also 
an  iron  platter  with  dark  bread  cakes  on  it. 

To  the  right,  towards  the  background,  a  cupboard  containing 
dishes.  Its  doors  are  closed.  Towards  the  right  foreground  a 
spinning-wheel  and  chair. 

In  the  background,  toward  the  right,  a  door,  giving  on  the  out- 
side. Towards  the  left  a  window,  rudely  latticed,  and  swinging 
inward.  Between  this  window  and  the  door  the  bare  wall  is  hung 
with  such  tools  as  miners  use,  a  boring  awl,  an  old  pick,  a  rusty 
lantern,  etc. 

In  the  center  of  the  room  a  plain  deal  table,  with  a  quaint  deal 
chair.  There  is  another  chair  of  the  same  kind  near  the  fireplace. 

The  door  in  the  background  is  open.  Through  it  can  be  seen  a 
range  of  boulder-strewn  hills  and  the  towers  of  a  castle  in  the  dis- 
tance. The  light  is  that  of  late  afternoon,  swiftly  deepening  to 
twilight.  At  the  rise  of  the  curtain,  Dame  Morna  is  contentedly 
spinning.  From  outside  comes  the  sound  of  someone  singing. 
It  is  faint  at  first,  and  then  grows  clearer  and  stronger.  Dame 
Morna  raises  her  head  and  listens.  She  is  a  middle-aged  woman 
and  wears  the  dress  of  a  peasant,  with  a  crossed  kerchief. 

CUBERT  (without): 

"When  the  darkness  gathers  hi  the  mountain  glen, 
Folks  dare  not  go  a- walking  for  fear  of  Little  Men! 


72  A   Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

Goblins  old  and  goblins  young,  clad  against  the  weather 
With  skin  of  bat,  fur  of  cat,  and  gray  owl's  feather." 

DAME  MORNA  (rising).  'Tis  Cubert's  voice!  What  can  have 
happened  to  bring  him  home  so  early? 

CUBERT  (running  in  ...  a  blithe,  buoyant  figure  of  a  lad). 
Mother!  (Flings  arm  about  her.  Then  laughs,  releases  her, 
and  looks  toward  fireplace)  How  good  the  cakes  smell! 
What  a  wonderful  mother  to  bake  such  wonderful  cakes! 

DAME  MORNA.  They  must  bake  yet  a  little  more,  son  Cubert. 
You  are  well  before  your  hour. 

CUBERT  (hanging  up  pick  and  lantern  on  wall,  back).  That  I 
am!  Do  I  smell  of  gunpowder?  The  miners  are  blasting 
and  they  said  I'd  best  be  off.  There's  no  work  I  can  do  till 
to-morrow,  so  here  I  am !  (Faint  booming  in  distance)  That 
was  a  great  blast!  How  the  rocks  must  be  flying!  The 
goblins  underground  will  be  holding  their  ears. 

DAME  MORNA  (busying  herself  with  testing  and  turning  the  cakes, 
which  she  finally  places  in  cupboard,  leaving  a  few  for  Cubert 
on  the  table  as  she  passes).  Goblins,  indeed!  If  the  ugly 
creatures  only  stayed  underground  we'd  have  nought  to 
complain  of;  but  they  are  growing  bolder  and  bolder.  In 
my  young  days  people  seldom  saw  the  goblins;  yet  now,  as 
soon  as  twilight  comes,  they  slip  from  their  hiding-places  in 
the  hills,  and  crouch  behind  rocks  and  stunted  trees,  till  it 
is  hard  to  tell  which  is  goblin  and  which  is  shadow.  Last 
night,  when  I  was  coming  back  from  neighbour  Mertram's,  I 
saw  six  of  them  sitting  under  the  cleft  of  a  big  stone,  and 
when  I  flashed  my  lantern  on  them  they  vanished.  I  won- 
der if  it's  the  fine  spring  weather  that's  bringing  them  out 
in  such  numbers,  or  is  it  the  progress  the  miners  are  making 
in  the  mine? 

CUBERT.  It  can't  be  that,  for  the  deeper  we  miners  dig,  the 
deeper  the  goblins  burrow  under  us. 

DAME  MORNA  (at  her  spinning-wheel).  Aye,  and  the  oldest 
miners  in  this  district  have  never  yet  found  the  place  where 
the  goblins  live. 


The  Silver  Thread  73 

CUBERT   (chuckling  delightedly).   Not!     It  took  the  youngest 

miner  of  them  all  to  discover  that ! 
DAME  MORNA  (turning  quickly).   Cubert,  you  don't  mean  that 


you- 

CUBERT  (sitting  on  the  table  and  nibbling  at  cakes).  Indeed  I  do, 
mother.  Listen.  As  I  was  running  home  to-day  I  heard  the 
queerest  sound  like  a  whisper  coming  from  under  the  earth. 
It  was  so  strange  that  I  laid  my  ear  to  the  ground  to  listen, 
and,  sure  enough,  there  were  the  goblins,  talking.  Their 
voices  came  from  a  great  distance  under  me,  but  I  heard 
them  say,  "To-night"  and  "The  castle!" 

DAME  MORNA.  The  castle!  They  dare  not  be  planning  mischief 
to  the  castle!  What  else  did  they  say,  Cubert? 

CUBERT.  That's  all  I  heard,  mother.  After  I've  had  my  sup- 
per I'm  going  back  to  the  same  rock  to  find  what  it's  all 
about.  It  will  be  quite  dark  by  that  time,  and  if  I  can 
move  one  of  the  stones  without  their  guessing  it,  I  can  creep 
through  and  hear  it  all. 

DAME  MORNA.  Be  careful,  Cubert.  You  know,  the  goblins  hate 
the  sunlight  people,  as  they  call  all  those  who  live  above  the 
ground.  They're  always  ready  to  do  the  miner-folk  a  mis- 
chief. 

CUBERT.  And  the  castle-folk,  too,  it  may  be.  They  said  "The 
castle."  I  wonder  if  the  Little  Princess  knows  about  them? 

DAME  MORNA.  How  should  she?  The  Princess  is  never  out 
after  nightfall,  and  'tis  not  the  custom  of  the  great  folk  in 
the  castle  yonder  to  wander  about  the  hills.  I'll  warrant 
there's  none  but  the  miners  and  the  miners'  wives  and  chil- 
dren who  have  ever  seen  the  goblins  or  know  anything  at  all 
about  them.  Even  if  the  castle  servants  knew  it,  they  would 
not  dare  to  tell  the  Princess.  His  Majesty,  King  Radnor, 
would  not  thank  them  for  frightening  her  little  Highness. 

CUBERT.  Yet,  if  ill  things  are,  sure  'tis  better  to  know  they  are, 
and  where  they  are.  How  did  there  ever  come  to  be  such 
things  as  goblins,  mother? 

DAME  MORNA.  'Tis  hard  to  tell,  son.  It  all  happened  so  long 
ago.  But  the  wisest  believe  that  the  goblins  were  once  crea- 


74  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

tures  more  like  us,  loving  sunshine  and  fresh  air.  But  their 
deeds  were  evil.  In  order  to  rob  and  annoy  folk  they  took 
to  living  in  mountain  caves,  and  from  that  it  was  only  a  step 
to  living  altogether  underground.  The  years  went  on,  and, 
because  they  lived  in  the  dark  and  because  their  minds  were 
hideous,  their  bodies  grew  warped  and  hideous,  too,  for  the 
insides  of  things  will  aye  shape  their  outsides. 

CUBERT.  How  strange,  then,  mother,  that  good  King  Radnor 
lets  the  goblins  roam  at  will. 

DAME  MORNA.  I  doubt  if  King  Radnor  knows  or  cares.  He 
keeps  to  his  castle.  It  is  only  those  who  live  in  the  open 
who  learn  to  see  far  off.  And  as  for  the  goblins  themselves, 
I  fear  there  is  no  way  in  which  we  can  be  rid  of  them;  for 
you  cannot  hurt  or  wound  them.  Their  strange  misshapen 
bodies  are  as  hard  as  iron. 

CUBERT.  And  there  is  no  one  who  knows  how  to  rule 
them? 

DAME  MORNA.  I  never  yet  heard  certainly  of  anyone  who  had 
power  over  them,  though  some  say 

CUBERT  (as  the  music  of  The  Woman  from  Beyond  the  Hills 
faintly  begins).  Hark! 

DAME  MORNA.     What  is  it? 

CUBERT.  When  you  said  .  .  .  "has  power"  ...  I  thought 
...  I  heard  .  .  . 

DAME  MORNA.   Heard  what? 

CUBERT  (with  face  uplifted).    Music  .  .  .  music  that  I  seem  to 
have  been  hearing  for  a  long  time  .  .  .  strong,  sweet  music. 
Such  music  as  they  play  before  kings  and  queens  when  they 
go  out  into  their  kingdoms.  .  .  . 
[The  music  swells  gradually. 

DAME  MORNA  (turning).  What  shadow  is  that  across  the  door- 
way? 

CUBERT.  It  is  the  shadow  of  an  old  woman.  See!  She  is 
coming  in. 

[The  music  swells  louder  and  then  stops.  The  Woman  from 
Beyond  the  Hills  enters,  a  mysteriously  regal  figure,  for  all  that 
her  dress  is  that  of  a  peasant.  Her  hair  is  white;  but  her  face 


The  Silver  Thread  75 

is  unlined.  She  wears  a  long  gray  cloak  about  her  shoulders, 
whose  hood  half  hides  her  face.  She  carries  a  tall  staff. 

THE  WOMAN  FROM  BEYOND  THE  HILLS.  Peace  and  strength  unto 
all  beneath  this  roof. 

[Dame  Morna  rises.  She  and  Cubert  regard  The  Woman  for 
one  second's  time  in  utter  amazement.  Then  Dame  Morna  re- 
gains her  self-possession,  and  goes  hospitably  forward. 

DAME  MORNA.  I  thank  you.  Will  you  not  sit  and  rest?  (Cu- 
bert hastens  to  bring  forward  the  chair  that  is  at  table,  center) 
You  are  a  stranger.  You  must  come  from  beyond  the  hills. 

THE  WOMAN  (seating  herself).  I  am  never  weary;  but  I  will  rest 
if  it  pleases  you,  Dame  Morna. 

DAME  MORNA  (going  back  and  forth  from  the  cupboard) .  Will  you 
not  taste  our  bread  and  goat's  cheese?  And  here  is  a  cordial 
I  made  last  Autumn  from  mountain  grapes.  It  is  not  well 
that  one  should  cross  our  threshold  unrefreshed,  though,  in- 
deed, I  know  that  this  is  but  coarse  fare. 

THE  WOMAN.  It  is  sweeter  than  some  I  have  eaten  in  palaces. 
The  white  bread  of  queens  is  often  bitter  to  the  taste. 

CUBERT  (plucking  at  his  mother's  sleeve).   What  means  she? 

DAME  MORNA  (aside,  much  mystified).   I  know  not. 

THE  WOMAN.  A  grudged  crust  is  dry  on  the  lips,  but  that 
which  is  freely  given  warms  the  heart.  You  are  wondering 
about  me,  Cubert,  lad.  Who  am  I,  and  why  am  I,  your 
great  eyes  ask?  Well,  some  say  I  know  the  ways  of  white 
magic,  and  some  call  me  The  Woman  from  Beyond  the  Hills, 
but  names  signify  nothing,  and  are  neither  here  nor  there. 

CUBERT.  You  call  me  "Cubert,"  and  yet  I  have  never  seen 
you  before. 

THE  WOMAN.  Think  back  a  little,  miner's  lad.  'Twas  about 
this  time  last  year  when  the  river  was  rain-swollen,  as  it  is 
now,  that  you  stopped  on  your  way  homeward  to  help  an 
old  gray  woman  over  its  muddy  banks. 

CUBERT.   I  had  forgotten. 

THE  WOMAN.  But  I  have  not  forgotten.  It  was  a  good  gift, 
the  gift  of  kind  help.  I  am  come  to-day  to  bring  you  a  gift 
in  turn. 


76  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

DAME  MORNA  (a  trifle  proudly).   My  son  wants  no  payment  for 

serving  those  that  need  his  service. 
THE  WOMAN.   Yet  he  may  take  the  love  of  those  he  serves,  and 

the  gift  it  gives. 

[Hands  him  a  ring. 
CUBERT.   A  ring!    Oh,  mother,  look! 
THE  WOMAN.   Aye,  a  ring.     Whenever  you  are  in  danger  or 

trouble,  place  that  ring  upon  your  finger,  and  it  will  show 

you  where  lies  safety. 
CUBERT.   I  thank  you. 

THE  WOMAN.   Show  you  safety,  I  said,  not  bring  you  to  it. 
CUBERT.   I  know.     I  must  up  and  find  my  safety  once  I'm 

shown  the  way. 
THE  WOMAN.   Aye,  Cubert,  and  remember  this:    That  which 

we  flee  from  masters  us  in  the  end;  but  of  that  which  we 

turn  and  face  we  are  always  master. 
CUBERT.   I'll  keep  my  face  to  my  fear.    I'll  not  run.     I  will 

remember. 
THE  WOMAN  (rising).   And  I  will  remember  the  lad  who  wears 

my  ring  and  does  not  turn  his  back.    Farewell. 
DAME  MORNA.   Must  you  leave  us  so  quickly? 
THE  WOMAN.   Aye,  for  the  twilight  hour  is  nearly  done,  and 

there's  a  storm  brewing.    Look  to  it,  Cubert,  that  when  you 

wear  the  ring  you  obey  the  ring. 

[Exit. 
CUBERT.  Hark!  the  music!  ...  It  is  playing  before  her  as  she 

goes!    It  is  ...    (Rushes  to  door)    Wait!    No!    She's  gone! 

There's  not  a  trace  of  her!    Nothing  but  the  evening  mists 

rolling  up  from  the  valley.    As  for  the  storm  she  said  was 

brewing,  why,  'tis  the  clearest  evening!     The  sky  is  just 

waiting  for  the  stars  to  be  lit. 
DAME  MORNA  (lighting  candles).    Come  in,  Cubert,  and  close 

the  door.    'Tis  almost  supper  time,  and  the  air  is  chill  these 

Spring  nights.    I  shivered  as  she  stood  there;  I  shivered  as 

she  went. 
CUBERT  (doing  as  he  is  bid).   Do  you  believe  what  that  strange 

old  woman  said  about  the  ring? 


The  Silver  Thread  77 

DAME  MORNA.  How  can  I  tell?  There's  wisdom  that's  not  our 
wisdom,  Cubert,  and  there  are  things  beyond  our  seeing 
that  we  must  yet  believe  in.  A  moment  ago  you  said  there 
was  no  storm  in  sight.  Look  again. 

CUBERT  (at  window).  Why,  the  sky  is  full  of  dark  clouds  and 
the  wind's  rising.  And  last  year's  leaves  are  scurrying  by 
with  a  rustle  like  goblin  footsteps.  'Twas  true,  then.  She 
can  read  even  the  storms,  that  strange  Woman  from  Beyond 
the  Hills.  Was  it  not  wonderful,  my  mother,  that  she 
should  leave  so  quickly?  Indeed,  I  cannot  tell  what  way  she 
took;  for  there,  before  me,  is  the  winding  hillside  road  on 
which  the  King  always  rides  when  he  comes  home  to  his 
castle,  and  there's  not  a  traveler  on  it,  though  I  can  see  it  plain. 

DAME  MORNA.   Draw  the  window,  Cubert.    My  heart,  what  a 
gust  that  was !    ( A  dap  of  thunder  sounds  without)    I  pity  all 
those  out  in  such  a  tempest! 
[A  knock  at  the  door. 

CUBERT  (running  to  open  it).   Perhaps  it  is  she  again! 

[The  latch  catches,  but,  after  a  moment's  delay,  the  door  is 
opened.  Mabina  and  the  Princess  Gwenda  enter  as  if  pro- 
pelled by  the  violence  of  the  storm.  The  Princess  is  a  very 
dear  and  charming  little  girl,  quaintly  dressed.  Mabina  is 
quite  evidently  tart  and  self-important. 

MABINA.  Would  you  keep  us  waiting  all  night  in  the  rain? 
That's  a  fine  way  for  beggarly  miner-folk  to  treat  the  Prin- 


cess! 

DAME  MORNA  (dumfounded) .   The  Princess! 
GWENDA   (with  pretty  eagerness).   Indeed,   indeed  you    didn't 

keep  us  waiting,  and  perhaps  the  latch  was  heavy.    Some  of 

the  castle  bolts  are  very  hard  to  lift,  I  know.     I've  heard 

Thorwald  say  so. 
MABINA.   Thorwald,  indeed!    Come  to  the  fire,  your  Highness, 

and  dry  your  cloak,  if  this  miner  lad  will  give  us  leave  to 

pass! 

[Glares  at  Cubert. 
DAME  MORNA.   Cubert,  my  son,  let  women  have  all  the  room 

they  wish.    I  have  taught  you  so. 


78  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

GWENDA  (seated  at  fire).   Thank  you,  Cubert,  and  thank  you, 

too,  Cubert 's  mother.    You  are  very  kind. 
MABINA  (haughtily).   Kind!     What  else  should  they  be!     It's 

an  honour  to  them  to  have  you!    What  would  the  King, 

your  father  say,  if  he  could  see  you  sitting  by  a  hearth  like 

this? 
GWENDA.   He'd  say  I  was  lucky  to  find  such  a  hearth,  after 

you  broke  his  commands  by  letting  me  be  out  so  far  from 

the  castle  after  dark. 
MABINA  (half  whimpering).   Your  Highness  knows  that  I  lost 

the  way,  else  your  Highness  would  be  home,  safe  and  sound, 

this  minute.     Besides,  no  one  saw  us  leave  the  castle,  so 

we'll  not  be  missed. 
GWENDA.   That's  all  the  worse,  Mabina.    Now  none  will  hunt 

and  find  us. 
CUBERT.   Will  your  Highness  taste  a  little  of  my  mother's 

spiced  cordial?     'Twill  make  you  feel  warmer  and  stronger 

after  your  wanderings. 
GWENDA  (quelling  Mabina9 s  objections  with  a  look).   Thank  you, 

Cubert!     (Sips  it)     It's  very  good.    And  I've  been  so  cold 

and  frightened. 
CUBERT.   Frightened? 
GWENDA.   We  couldn't  find  the  road,  and  the  way  was  so 

rough,  and,  as  night  came  on,  queer  shadowy  things  looked 

at  us  from  behind  the  rocks. 
MABINA.   Nonsense,  your  Highness. 
GWENDA.   It  wasn't  nonsense,  Mabina.     I  saw  them  with  my 

own  eyes,  and  I  heard  them  talking  together,  and  one  of 

them  spoke  my  name. 
CUBERT.   It  must  have  been  the  gob 

[Sees  his  mother's  warning  look,  and  checks  himself. 
MABINA   (dryly).   Your  Highness  shouldn't  be  afraid  of  the 

dark. 
GWENDA.   I'm  not  afraid  of  the  dark,  Mabina.     You  know 

that;  but  I  am  afraid  of  -          (With  a  cry)    Oh,  there's  one 

now!    One  of  those  dark  shadowy  things  that  followed  us. 

It's  looking  in  the  window! 


The  Silver  Thread  79 

[Goblin  promptly  vanishes,  just  as  Cubert  starts  toward  the 

window,  pick  in  hand. 
MABINA.   Her  Highness  is  so  nervous  and  exhausted  she  doesn't 

know  what  she  sees.    Come,  Princess,  drink  a  little  more  of 

the  spiced  cordial;  and  then,  as  soon  as  your  coat  and  shoes 

are  dry,  we'll  start  for  the  castle. 

[Mabina  busies  herself  at  fire,  holding  the  cloak  near  the  glow 

to  warm  it,  while  Cubert  and  the  Princess  talk. 
CUBERT.   And  I'll  go  with  you  as  far  as  the  castle  gates,  I  and 

my  miner's  lantern. 
GWENDA  (looking  at  it  with  interest).   Is  that  it?     I've  often 

longed  to  see  a  miner's  lantern.    Things  men  work  with  are 

so  wonderful  to  a  Princess. 
CUBERT.   Not  half  so  wonderful  as  a  Princess  is  to  men  who 

really  work. 
GWENDA  (wistfully).   I  wish  you  could  see  me  oftener,  Cubert. 

I'm  sometimes  very  lonely  at  the  castle.    I  have  no  mother, 

as  you  have,  and  there's  no  one  young  to  talk  to  in  all  the 

great  house. 
CUBERT.   But  how  can  I  come  to  see  you,  Princess,  when  I  am 

only  a  miner  boy,  and  you  are  a  Royal  Highness? 
GWENDA  (innocently).   What  difference  can  that  make,  Cubert? 

(Looking  with  interest  at  his  tools)     Is  that  your  pickax? 

I've  often  heard  my  father  say  that  without  a  pickax  there 

would  be  no  crown. 

CUBERT  (pleased).   Does  your  father  say  that? 
GWENDA  (looking  straight  before  her,  and  talking  very  earnestly). 

He  says  that  a  pickax  means  more  than  any  scepter;  be- 
cause things  men  work  with  are  wonderful  and  splendid. 
CUBERT  (delightedly,  looking  at  his  pickax).   Then  I've  a  scepter 

.  .  .  and  a  ring! 
GWENDA.   A  ring? 
CUBERT.   It  was  given  me  to-day  by  a  strange  old  woman  who 

called  herself  The  Woman  from  Beyond  the  Hills.    And  she 

said,  if  ever  I  were  in  danger,  to  keep  my  face  towards  my 

fear,  and  that  the  ring  —  her  ring  —  would  show  me  the 

way  to  safety! 


80  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

MABINA   (turning  from  fire,  cloak  in  hand).   Your  Highness's 

cloak  is  dry  at  last,  the  storm  is  cleared,  and  'tis  time  we 

were  going. 

[The  Princess  puts  on  her  cloak,  and  then,  attracted  by  Dame 

Morna's  wheel,  goes  over  to  it.    They  talk  in  pantomime.    Cu- 

bert  and  Mabina  are  by  the  fire. 
MABINA  (snappishly).   You  need  not  light  your  lantern,  young 

sir,  for  we  shall  not  need  your  assistance. 
CUBERT  (quietly  lighting  his  lantern).   Perhaps  you'd  prefer  the 

goblins'  company  to  mine. 
MABINA    (contemptuously).     Goblins!      (With   an   apprehensive 

glance  at  Gwenda)     S-sh!    Don't  let  the  Princess  hear  you! 

She's  frightened  enough,  as  it  is,  of  every  shadow  we've  seen 

along  the  way.    Goblins,  indeed!    There's  no  such  thing  in 

the  world.     Why  don't  you  put  up  your  lantern,  miner's  boy? 
CUBERT.   Because  I  and  my  lantern  are  needed,  so,  whether 

you  like  it  or  not,  I'm  going  to  see  the  Princess  safely  to  the 

castle  gates.    (To  Gwenda)    Come,  your  Highness. 
GWENDA.   Good  night,  Dame  Morna. 
DAME  MORNA.   Good  night,  Princess. 
GWENDA.   May  I  truly  say  good  night,  dear  mother  of  Cubert? 

May  I  kiss  you? 
DAME  MORNA  (moved).   With  all  my  heart!    (Kisses  her)    Good 

night,  and  Heaven  keep  you,  lonely  little  girl! 

[Exeunt  Gwenda  and  Mabina. 
DAME  MORNA.   You're  going,  Cubert? 
CUBERT  (lingering).   As  far  as  the  castle  gates,  my  mother. 

And,  after  that,  a-visiting  the  goblins.    I  must  know  what's 

afoot  to-night. 

DAME  MORNA.   Remember  your  ring,  Cubert. 
CUBERT.   Yes,  Mother.    And  I'll  face  my  fear!    Coming,  Prin- 


[Exit. 

DAME  MORNA  (looking  after  them).   Blessings  on  her  gentle  little 
Highness,  and  on  my  own  dear  boy! 

[The  faint  mysterious  music  of  The  Woman  from  Beyond  the 
HiUs  sounds  as  the  curtain  falls. 


The  Silver  Thread  81 

SCENE  II 

An  hour  later.  The  Goblins9  forge  room.  A  vaulted  under- 
ground chamber  of  stone,  the  walls  and  background  of  which  are 
jagged  rock. 

At  the  left,  towards  the  foreground,  a  jutting  boulder,  sloping  to 
a  point  large  enough  to  hide  from  view  anyone  crouching  or  stand- 
ing  behind  it.  Toward  the  left  background  the  rocks  divide  and 
form  a  passageway  through  which  the  Goblins  enter  and  reenter. 

In  the  center  of  the  stage  a  rude  forge  with  embers  aglow  be- 
neath it. 

The  curtain  rises  on  a  scene  of  great  animation.  Goblins  are 
swarming  to  and  fro  across  the  stage,  while  Troll  hammers  at  the 
forge  on  what  look  to  be  grotesque  imitations  of  miner's  tools.  The 
shadows  of  the  Goblins  leap  fantastically  in  the  red  fire-glow. 
They  are  eerie  creatures,  with  active,  twisted  bodies,  and  faces 
curiously  gnarled  and  old.  For  a  moment  after  the  curtain  rises 
there  is  no  sound  save  the  ringing  blows  on  the  forge.  All  the  rest 
is  in  pantomime.  As  soon  as  the  tools  quit  the  forge  the  Goblins 
hurry  of,  left,  with  them. 

TROLL  (at  forge).   Bring  me  the  bellows,  Ratkin!     Be  quick 
with  the  picks,  Mottlesnout !    Hurry !     Skurry !    This  is  no 
time  for  idling.    Since  we  have  no  tools  such  as  miners  use, 
we  must  weld  our  own.     (Hammers  fiercely  for  a  moment, 
and  then  pauses)    King  Shadowcob  will  be  here  presently  to 
see  how  the  work  goes  forward,  and  it  will  be  ill  for  us  if  he 
finds  our  hands  are  lagging  or  our  tools  unmade. 
ROLL.   My  pick  will  bear  his  Majesty's  inspection ! 
MOTTLESNOUT.   My  crowbar  would  rend  a  granite  wall! 
RATKIN  (yawning).   My  arms  ache  with  hammering,  and  the 
heat  of  the  fire  makes  me  drowsy. 

[He  sits  sleepily  at  left  foreground,  leaning  against  the  rocky 
wall. 

ROLL.   I  don't  wonder  he's  drowsy,  he's  such  a  glutton.    There's 
not  a  goblin  dainty  that  he  can  ever  let  pass. 
[Goblins  laugh.     Troll  continues  to  hammer  briskly,  in  panto- 
mime.   Roll  goes  to  right  foreground,  where  a  group  of  Goblins 


82  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

have  paused  a  moment  to  glance  at  Mole's  Ear,  who  is  busily 
employed  with  a  large  flagon  and  a  fantastic  goblet.  Into  the 
flagon  he  is  squeezing  grapes. 

KOLL  (briskly).  What  are  you  doing,  Mole's  Ear? 

MOLE'S  EAR.  Making  wine,  my  brother,  goblin  wine.  Fen 
grapes  have  I  used  and  the  slimy  roots  of  things  that  grow 
beneath  the  ground.  And  many  another  thing  that  thrives 
in  the  dark,  my  brother.  'Tis  a  rare  draught.  At  times  of 
ceremony  we  shall  use  it. 

KOLL  (crossing  to  where  Clawfoot  in  the  extreme  left  foreground  is 
showing  to  another  Goblin  a  darkly  glittering  throne  robe). 
What  are  you  doing,  Clawfoot 

CLAWFOOT  (indicating  first  a  small  loom  which  the  Goblin  who 
was  talking  to  him  holds,  and  then  proudly  holding  up  the  robe) . 
Weaving  a  throne  robe,  my  brother,  spangled  with  crystals 
that  lie  where  underground  springs  run  blackly.  (Turns 
robe  so  that  it  catches  new  glimmers  of  light  from  the  forge  fire) 
Does  it  not  shimmer  darkly?  It  is  a  robe  of  state! 
[Goblins  with  robe  and  goblet  disperse.  The  forge  remains  the 
center  of  activity. 

RATKIN  (starting  from  his  drowsy  posture).  I  hear  the  sound  of 
someone  moving  stones  up  above  us! 

TROLL  (ceasing  his  pantomimic  hammering).  Teach  your  ears 
better  wisdom,  Ratkin.  (Ratkin  begins  to  work  bellows)  'Tis 
but  the  rushing  of  the  river  swollen  by  the  Spring  rains,  or 
some  belated  miner  wandering  above  ground  with  his  lantern, 
and  little  dreaming  what  merry  work  is  a-doing  beneath  his 
thick  heels. 

[The  hammering  begins  again,  loudly,  with  pauses  of  utter  si- 
lence during  which  can  be  heard  the  strokes  of  Cubert's  pick  up 
above. 

KOLL  (to  Goblins  in  background).  Faster!  Faster!  Rest  not 
an  instant.  The  King  will  soon  be  here. 

TROLL  (at  forge) .   Blow  the  sparks  for  me,  Ratkin ! 

RATKIN.   Let  Mottlesnout  hold  the  bellows.    I  am  so  weary  I 
can  no  longer  move  my  arms. 
[Flings  himself  by  rock,  left,  and  dozes. 


The  Silver  Thread  83 

TROLL.  Take  his  place,  Mottlesnout,  and  let  him  rest;  for  he 
has  served  us  well. 

MOTTLESNOUT.  I  wish  we  had  the  arts  of  those  hateful  miner- 
folk.  Then  our  picks  and  crowbars  would  be  as  fine  as 
theirs. 

ROLL.   Patience,  Mottlesnout.    Our  time  is  coming. 
[Enter  Slumpkin,  left. 

TROLL  (seeing  him).  Come,  blow  the  sparks  for  me,  Slumpkin. 
Where  have  you  been  so  long? 

SLUMPKIN.  Out  on  the  hills,  Troll,  out  on  the  hills.  The  Prin- 
cess strayed  from  the  castle  and  lost  her  way.  We  followed 
her,  Shag  and  I;  but  she  fled  from  us  and  called  us  dreadful 
shadows. 

TROLL  (with  malicious  delight).  She'll  feel  the  hands  of  us  shad- 
ows presently. 

MOTTLESNOUT.  Aye,  that  she  will! 

KOLL.   Why  didn't  you  seize  her,  Slumpkin,  and  carry  her  off? 

SLUMPKIN.  Above  ground?  With  the  miner-folk  likely  to  ap- 
pear at  any  moment?  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  that,  good 
Troll;  not  I!  What  a  wise  goblin  steals  is  stolen  by  night, 
and  silently.  The  sunlight  people  love  the  brightness  of  the 
day,  but  we  are  of  the  dark,  and  in  the  dark  our  deeds 
thrive  best. 

MOTTLESNOUT.  Aye,  for  none  know  of  our  deeds  save  the  rats 
in  the  castle  cellars,  and  the  rats  are  dumb! 

KOLL  (coming  down  from  the  back  of  the  stage).  Goblins,  our 
King  is  coming  at  last! 

ALL.  The  King! 

[General  tumult  of  preparation. 

TROLL.   Drop  work  and  let  us  meet  him. 

MOTTLESNOUT.   Aye,  let  us  give  him  the  greeting  he  deserves! 
Come,  Ratkin! 
[Rouses  the  sleeping  Goblin. 

RATKIN  (following  staggeringly  as  he  rubs  his  eyes).  Even  in  my 
sleep  I  heard  the  sound  of  someone  moving  rocks  up  above  us! 
[The  Goblins  rush  out,  left,  leaving  their  tools  behind  them.  A 
moment  later  Cubert  forces  his  way  through  an  opening  in  the 


84  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

rock,  at  left  foreground,  and,  running  to  the  center  of  the  stage, 
looks  about  him  wonderingly. 

CUBERT.  Is  this,  indeed,  the  place?  (Looks  up)  So  dark!  So 
dim !  (Runs,  peering  right  and  left)  And  with  so  many,  wind- 
ing passages!  How  strange  and  still  it  is!  And  how  the 
shadows  dance!  Here  are  the  Goblins'  tools;  but  where  are 
the  Goblins?  There's  not  a  sign  of  them,  and  yet  this  is  their 
forge  room,  I  know,  for  only  a  moment  since  I  heard  them 
hammering  and  talking. 

MOTTLESNOUT  (speaking  in  the  passage,  left).  Way  for  his  Maj- 
esty! Room  for  King  Shadowcob! 

CUBERT.   Hark!    I  hear  them  coming! 

[He  runs  behind  boulder  that  juts  into  the  right  foreground,  and 
crouches  there,  perfectly  screened  from  view.  King  Shadowcob 
enters  from  left  background,  attended  by  all  the  Goblins  gro- 
tesquely bowing  and  capering. 

TROLL  (as  Goblins  bring  tools  for  inspection) .  Behold  our  work, 
your  Majesty!  Not  a  pick  but  what  is  as  sharp  as  hand  can 
make  it;  not  a  crowbar  or  gimlet  but  what  is  ready  to  work 
your  will,  and  teach  the  castle-folk  the  meaning  of  goblin 
cunning. 

KING  SHADOWCOB.  Well  spoken,  Troll,  and  like  a  true  earth 
child.  Goblins,  is  all  in  readiness? 

KOLL.  All  is  in  readiness,  your  Majesty.  Our  labours  are  at  an 
end.  The  secret  passage  which  we  have  hewn  through  the 
rocks  and  which  leads  from  our  council  hall  to  King  Rad- 
nor's castle,  is  at  last  complete,  and  to-day,  while  the  Prin- 
cess roamed  the  hills,  our  valiant  Mottlesnout  made  an 
opening  in  the  wall  of  her  room. 

CUBERT  (in  an  outraged  voice,  the  cry  escaping  from  him) .   Oh ! 

KING  SHADOWCOB  (turning).   Who  spoke? 

KOLL.  'Twas  nought  but  Ratkin,  your  Majesty.  He  is  always 
drowsing  and  talking  in  his  sleep. 

KING  SHADOWCOB  (indignantly).  This  is  no  time  for  slumber! 
Now  or  never  we  must  act,  and  act  quickly.  King  Radnor 
is  away,  the  miners  are  weary  with  blasting,  and  the  foolish 
castle-folk  unmindful  of  what  we  Goblins  plan.  Shoulder 


THE  SILVER  THREAD 

Act  I.     Scene  ii 
Gilbert.— ''Hark!     I  hear  them  coming!" 


The  Silver  Thread  85 

your  tools,  and  let  us  make  what  speed  we  can  to  our  coun- 
cil hall,  and  from  thence  to  the  castle  cellars.  There  we  will 
wait  our  time  till  the  clock  strikes  midnight 

KOLL  (half -breathless  with  delight} .   And  then 

KING  SHADOWCOB.  Then  we  will  creep  like  rats  up  from  the 
castle  cellars  through  the  castle  tower,  push  back  the  panel 
that  leads  to  the  room  of  the  Princess,  and  her  Royal  High- 
ness will  be  ours. 

RATKIN.  Aye,  but  what  if  the  King's  guards  should  discover 
us? 

KING  SHADOWCOB  (Jrowuing).  A  foolish  question,  Ratkin. 
There's  not  a  guard  that  knows  of  the  secret  panel  we  have 
cut,  and  only  goblins  or  moles  could  crawl  through  the  pas- 
sage we  have  made.  (As  he  speaks  Goblins' gather  round  him) 
And  if  more  than  goblins  or  moles  crawl  through,  have  we 
not  a  remedy?  The  river  is  higher  this  Spring  than  ever 
before.  Already  it  has  overflowed  its  banks.  Even  now,  if 
you  listen,  you  can  hear  it  rushing  up  above  you.  If  cour- 
tiers or  miners  should  follow  us,  we  will  break  in  the  walls 
of  our  secret  passage,  and  the  water  from  above  will  rush 
in  and  fill  it.  The  river  will  sweep  through  our  tunnel  to 
the  castle  cellars.  It  will  fill  even  our  council  hall.  The  en- 
trance to  this  forge  room  might  be  found;  the  entrance  to 
our  council  hall  is  past  mortal  finding! 

RATKIN.  Aye,  but  what  of  us,  if  the  river  should  enter  the 
hall? 

KING  SHADOWCOB  (impatiently).  Are  there  not  caverns  far  be- 
neath that  hall  where  we  can  hide  in  safety  till  those  who 
hunt  for  us  are  drowned? 

MOTTLESNOUT.   True,  true,  your  Majesty! 

KOLL.   Ratkin  talks  like  a  blinking  owl ! 

SLUMPKIN  (suddenly  breaking  silence).  I  would  liefer  have  an 
owl  than  her  Royal  Highness. 

KING  SHADOWCOB  (glowering  at  him).  When  she  is  old  enough 
you  are  to  marry  the  Princess. 

SLUMPKIN.  But,  father,  the  Princess  is  not  sweet  or  comely. 
I  would  I  might  marry  someone  beautiful  —  as  we  are ! 


86  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

KING  SHADOWCOB  (angrily).  You'll  marry  whom  I  say,  or  it 
will  be  the  worse  for  you.  The  Princess  is  the  wife  for  you, 
and  nono  other.  It  is  she  who  will  teach  us  all  the  arts  of 
the  sunlight  people,  so  that,  in  the  end,  we  shall  be  as  pow- 
erful as  they.  Some  day  you  will  rule  over  your  own  king- 
dom, and  theirs,  too 

TROLL.  Your  Majesty,  I've  heard  that  the  sunlight  people  are 
very  soft-hearted.  When  they  are  sorrowful,  salt-water 
trickles  out  of  their  eyes.  What  of  the  little  Princess? 

KING  SHADOWCOB.  Who  will  hear  her  cries,  once  she  is  safely 
underground?  The  castle-folk  will  clamour  and  search  in 
vain!  Our  revenge  will  be  complete.  Day  by  day  we  are 
driven  deeper  into  the  earth;  but  the  sunlight  people  have 
not  reckoned  with  goblin  cunning.  The  King's  miners  bur- 
row into  our  dwelling,  but  we  shall  burrow  into  the  King's! 

ALL  GOBLINS  (fiercely  jubilant).   Aha! 

KING  SHADOWCOB.  Come,  Goblins!  The  hours  fly  fast!  Bring 
torches,  Mottlesnout!  Go,  Slumpkin,  and  lead  the  way! 
Carry  your  pick,  Ratkin,  lest  the  passage  be  over-narrow. 
Leave  your  forge  fire,  Troll.  We  shall  not  need  its  \embers. 
Onward,  good  Goblins,  onward!  This  night  the  Princess 
shall  be  ours. 
[Exeunt  all  the  Goblins,  left. 

CUBERT  (clambering  with  all  haste  from  his  hiding-place).  Yours? 
Never  while  I  have  a  tongue  to  speak,  or  a  foot  on  which  to 
stand ! 

CURTAIN 

ACT  II 

The  bedroom  of  the  Princess  Gwenda,  luxurious  in  pale  blue. 
Panels  of  dark  wood.  In  background,  towards  right,  dark  panels 
running  half  the  length  of  the  room.  Towards  the  left  a  long  nar- 
row window,  latticed  and  swinging  inward.  On  each  side  of  it 
hangings  of  pale  blue  brocade  reaching  from  floor  to  ceiling.  The 
window  is  open,  giving  a  glimpse  of  a  fine  moonlit  night.  Dark 
hills  are  etched  against  the  sky. 


The  Silver  Thread  87 

Near  the  wall,  left,  a  canopied  bed,  very  quaint  and  narrow. 
Its  head  is  towards  the  window.  On  the  floor  before  it  a  white 
fur  rug.  At  the  foot  of  the  bed  a  door  leading  into  other  rooms  of 
the  castle.  Near  the  door  a  dressing-table  with  silver  boxes,  a  jew- 
eled hair-brush. 

At  the  right  another  door  opening  into  the  room  beyond.  Against 
the  right  wall,  near  foreground,  a  carved  seat. 

Suspended  from  the  ceiling,  right,  a  beautifully  hammered  gong. 

At  the  rise  of  the  curtain  Aide  and  Mabina  are  turning  down 
the  coverlet  and  straightening  the  silver  boxes  on  the  dressing-table, 
on  which  candles  are  a-gleam.  Aide  is  a  pretty  pink-cheeked 
maid-in-waiting,  quite  evidently  in  awe  of  the  imperious  Mabina. 

ALCIE  (pausing  by  window).  'Tis  a  fine  moonlit  night  after  the 
rain,  and  I  can  see  Thorwald,  the  guard,  pacing  to  and  fro 
in  the  courtyard  beneath  me,  and  beyond  him  the  trees  of 
the  garden.  How  the  river  is  rushing  down  the  mountain 
after  the  storm!  It  must  be  near  to  overflowing  its  banks; 
for  I  can  hear  the  sound  of  it  from  here.  (Leaves  window) 
Where  were  you  during  the  shower,  Mabina? 

MABINA  (haughtily).   Where  should  I  be? 

ALCIE.  I  could  not  find  you,  although  I  looked  for  you  and 
the  Princess  high  and  low. 

MABINA.  The  castle  has  more  rooms  than  one,  and  people  are 
always  to  be  found  by  those  who  use  their  eyes.  Have  you 
laid  out  her  Highnesses  sleeping- wrap?  'Tis  long  past  her 
Highness's  bedtime. 

ALCIE.  And  she  seemed  tired  to-night,  the  dear  little  Princess! 
She  looked  quite  flushed  as  she  ate  her  supper,  and  she  asked 
me  the  strangest  questions. 

MABINA  (uneasily).   Questions? 

ALCIE.  She  wanted  to  know  if  I  had  ever  been  beyond  the 
castle  gates  at  nightfall,  and  if  I  had  ever  seen  queer  shad- 
owy creatures  following  me  as  I  went.  'Tis  some  strange 
idea  she  has  got  from  having  no  other  children  to  play  with, 
and  truly  this  castle  is  a  lonely  enough  place  with  King 
Radnor  ever  traveling  to  other  parts  of  his  kingdom  that  he 


88  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

may  see  justice  done  to  all  his  subjects  equally.    It's  small 
wonder  that  the  little  Princess  has  such  curious  fancies. 

MABINA.  And  you  listened  to  her  fancies,  Alcie?  There  are 
some  that  will  never  learn  wisdom! 

ALCIE  (humbly).   I  am  sure  I  did  not  mean 

MABINA  (witheringly) .  Did  not  mean!  Take  this  candlestick, 
Alcie,  and  look  where  you  are  going!  (Exit  Alcie ,  left) 
Didn't  mean!  (Airily)  Unless  I  stay  by  the  Princess  every 
moment,  these  maids-in-waiting  will  be  putting  more  fancies 
into  her  head  by  listening  to  the  ones  she  has  already. 
[Exit  Mabina,  left,  just  as  Cubert  bursts  in,  right,  and  darts 
behind  hangings  at  window,  Gundred,  Thorwald  and  Solberg 
hard  at  his  heels.  During  the  ensuing  colloquy  the  space  at 
left  gradually  fills  with  listening  castle-folk,  maids-in-waiting 
and  men-at-arms. 

GUNDRED.   He  went  this  way,  I  tell  you! 

THORWALD.  Aye,  I  saw  him  myself.  (Pulls  back  curtain,  and 
wrenches  Cubert  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  where  the  miner 
lad,  slender  and  young  as  he  is,  seems  all  the  more  boyish  as 
compared  to  the  broad-shouldered  guards  who  surround  him) 
Stand  forth,  young  miner,  or  now  that  I  hold  you  it  will  go 
hard  with  you. 

[Mabina  and  Alcie,  alarmed  at  the  clamour,  enter  from  left, 
Alcie  taking  the  precaution  to  close  the  door  behind  her. 

MABINA.  Would  you  rouse  the  castle  with  your  uproar?  What 
is  the  meaning  of  this? 

THORWALD  (shaking  Cubert).  It  means  that  this  young  whelp 
of  a  miner's  boy  has  returned  a  second  time.  Once  before  I 
bade  him  begone,  and  sent  him  from  the  castle  gates,  but 
now  he  returns  and  forces  his  way  into  the  very  castle  itself. 
He  says  that  he  must  see  the  Princess,  and  talks  to  us  wildly 
of  Goblins  and  council  halls. 

ALCIE.   Who  ever  heard  the  like! 

GUNDRED.   The  boy  is  crazed. 

CUBERT  (passionately).  'Tis  you  who  are  crazed,  because  you 
will  not  listen.  I  tell  you  that  this  very  night  the  Goblins 
mean  to  steal  the  Princess.  They  have  hewn  a  passage  into 


The  Silver  Thread  89 

the  castle  cellar  —  a  passage  that  leads  to  the  Princess's 
very  room. 

SOLBERG.  I  said  his  brains  were  misty!  For  though  'tis  ru- 
moured that  after  nightfall  the  mines  are  filled  with  strange 
misshapen  creatures,  they'd  never  dare  approach  so  near  the 
castle. 

THORWALD.  The  miner  lad  talks  folly.  'Tis  some  strange 
dream  he  has  had  while  working  underground.  > 

CUBERT  (beseechingly  to  Mabina).  Oh,  speak  for  me!  You  know 
I  would  not  lie! 

MABINA.   Indeed,  I  know  nothing  of  the  sort! 

CUBERT  (imploringly  to  guards).  Oh,  will  you  not  listen!  'Tis 
but  a  short  time  since  I  left  the  Goblins'  council  hall,  and 
heard  them  plotting. 

THORWALD  (brusquely).  Enough!  'Tis  plain  to  see  that  the  lad 
has  lost  his  wits. 

MABINA.  Aye,  and  a  fine  sight  he'd  be  if  the  Princess  should 
come  in  suddenly  and  find  him  here!  What  more  you  have 
to  say  can  be  said  to  him  below  in  the  courtyard.  I'll  not 
have  her  Highness  disturbed  by  a  roomful  of  people,  each 
talking  louder  than  the  other. 

CUBERT  (imploringly,  as  Gundred  lays  hands  on  him).  If  you 
will  not  believe  me,  let  me  but  speak  to  the  Princess  —  only 
one  word. 

MABINA.  You've  said  words  in  plenty,  and  great  good  they 
have  done!  (Haughtily,  to  the  guards)  Will  you  be  off  to 
the  courtyard,  or  shall  the  King  know  how  his  guards  wran- 
gle in  the  Princess's  room? 

SOLBERG.  Gently,  gently,  Madam  Wasp's  Nest !  We  meant  no 
wrong!  Look  to  the  lad,  Gundred,  and  see  that  he  does  not 
escape  us  a  second  tune.  Let  the  night-watch  keep  him  in 
the  courtyard  till  daylight  comes.  The  dawn  will  cool  his 
fever. 

[The  guards  during  Solberg's  speech  have  taken  Cubert  through 
the  door  at  right,  although  he  protests  in  passionate  dumb  show. 
The  castle-folk  exeunt  right  and  left,  and  Mabina  and  Aide 
are  left  alone. 


90  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

ALCIE  (standing  by  the  window,  and  speaking  half -uneasily} . 
What  if  it  were  truth  that  the  lad  spoke,  Mabina?  All  the 
miner-folk  believe  that  there  are  goblins. 

MABINA.  Are  we  miner-folk  to  listen  to  such  tales?  Where  is 
the  lad  now? 

ALCIE  (at  window}.  They  have  brought  him  to  the  courtyard. 
He  is  standing  there  now,  with  his  face  turned  towards  this 
window. 

MABINA.  'Tis  a  light  punishment,  that,  to  be  kept  there  in  the 
courtyard.  But  'twill  teach  him  a  lesson  when  he  stands 
there  all  the  hours  through. 

ALCIE.   I  wonder  if 

MABINA  (as  a  step  is  heard  outside  the  door  at  left) .  Hush !  Here's 
the  Princess. 

GWENDA  (entering,  left,  a  pale  blue  silken  robe  over  her  night- 
robe,  pale  blue  slippers}.  Are  you  and  Alcie  alone?  A  mo- 
ment ago  I  thought  I  heard  several  voices. 

MABINA.   It  might  have  been  the  guards,  your  Highness.    They 
were  talking  outside  in  the  hall.     (In  alarm  as  Princess  moves 
towards  the  window)    Come  from  the  window,  your  Highness, 
the  night  air  is  chill. 
[Exit  Alcie,  left. 

GWENDA.   But  the  outdoors  is  so  wonderful,  Mabina,  with  the 
dew  and  the  darkness,  and  the  night  wind  sighing  in  the 
trees.    Oh,  how  I  wish  I  lived  in  a  little  house  like  Cubert's, 
and  not  in  this  great  lonely  castle. 
[Sits  to  have  her  hair  brushed. 

MABINA  (practically).  Then  you  couldn't  be  a  Princess,  your 
Highness. 

GWENDA.  Oh,  yes,  I  could,  Mabina.  My  father  says  that 
every  little  girl  is  a  Princess  —  every  little  girl  who  tries  to 
be  gentle  and  courteous  and  kind.  It  isn't  what  she  wears 
on  her  back  that  makes  her  a  Princess:  it's  what  she 
wears  in  her  heart.  And  since  Cubert  has  a  kind  heart, 
and  is  always  'trying  to  do  things  for  other  people,  he 
is  really  a  Prince,  just  as  much  as  I  am  a  Princess,  don't 
you  see? 


The  Silver  Thread  91 

MABINA.  No,  I  don't  see,  and  I  must  say  that  I  think  what 
your  Highness  is  saying  sounds  like  great  nonsense. 

GWENDA.  Ah,  that's  what  you  said  about  those  queer  shadowy 
things  that  followed  us  after  sundown,  and  yet  I  saw  them 
as  plainly  as  I  see  you. 

MABINA.  Don't  speak  of  shadows,  your  Highness.  If  you 
think  of  them,  you'll  be  apt  to  dream. 

GWENDA.  Oh,  no,  I  won't,  Mabina.  And,  besides,  I'm  not 
afraid.  Nothing  could  reach  me  here.  And  then  there  is 
the  great  gong  over  by  the  wall.  I've  only  to  strike  that  and 
all  the  castle-people  will  come  running. 

MABINA  (more  gently).  So  they  will,  dear  Princess.  I  had  for- 
gotten that. 

GWENDA.  I  only  wish,  Mabina,  that  my  father  would  come  home 
to-night.  He's  been  away  so  long,  and  it's  almost  time  he  was 
back  again.  You  know  he  often  travels  by  moonlight.  If 
he  does  come,  you'll  be  sure  and  call  me,  won't  you,  Mabina? 
[Getting  into  bed. 

MABINA.   Yes,  your  Highness. 

GWENDA.   No  matter  how  late  it  is? 

MABINA.   No  matter  how  late  it  is. 

GWENDA  (yawning).  That's  a  good  Mabina.  Oh,  I  am  so 
sleepy ! 

MABINA  (really  sweetly  for  her).  Would  your  Highness  like  me 
to  sit  by  you? 

GWENDA  (very  drowsily).  Why,  no,  of  course  not,  Mabina. 
Won't  —  you  —  be  —  near  —  me  —  in  —  the  —  next  — 

room ? 

[Falls  asleep. 

MABINA  (laying  out  shoes  and  stockings).  And  which  will  she 
want  to  wear  to-morrow,  I  wonder.  Her  green  gown,  or  her 
blue?  Princess!  (A  little  louder)  Princess!  She's  so  fast 
asleep  she  doesn't  even  hear  me!  She'll  rest  soundly  after 
her  long  wandering  this  afternoon.  (Yawns)  Well,  'tis  al- 
most midnight,  and  the  rest  of  the  castle  is  a-bed.  'Tis  time 
I  was  dreaming  (stretches)  as  soon  as  I  have  seen  Alcie,  and 
laid  out  the  Princess's  gowns. 


92  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

[Blows  out  candles,  taking  one  with  her  as  she  exits  left.  The 
Princess  sleeps.  Moonlight  steals  in  the  window,  flooding  the 
room  with  faint  radiance.  A  pause.  A  Goblin  pushes  back  a 
panel  of  the  wall  in  the  right  background,  and  peers  cautiously 
in.  Then  he  enters  on  tiptoe,  and,  as  he  lifts  his  face  in  the 
moonlight,  it  is  seen  that  he  is  Ratkin.  In  the  panel  behind  him 
stands  Mottlesnout. 

MOTTLESNOUT.     Is  it  SUFC  she's  asleep? 

RATKIN.    Quite  sure. 

MOTTLESNOUT  (cautiously  entering).  And  there's  no  one  stir- 
ring? 

RATKIN.   No  one. 

KING  SHADOWCOB  (appearing  at  panel,  entering,  and  then  direct- 
ing Goblins  who  follow  him).  Quickly,  there,  to  your  work. 
Keep  guard,  Slumpkin. 

[The  Goblins  quickly  surround  the  bed,  and  lift  up  the  Princess, 
who  lies  on  a  slip  mattress  placed  over  the  real  one.  As  this 
slip  mattress  is  carried  down  the  passage,  the  little  Princess 
looks  very  small  and  huddled.  She  sleeps  soundly  and  does  not 
waken.  Troll  lags  behind.  Ratkin  reappears  through  panel. 

TROLL.   Is  all  safe,  Ratkin? 

RATKIN.   All's  safe,  and  the  Princess  has  not  yet  wakened. 

TROLL.   What  will  she  do  for  more  clothes? 
[Shag  reappears  from  panel. 

RATKIN  (directing  Shag).  There  are  more  on  that  chair.  A 
dress  and  a  cloak.  Go  take  them. 

[Shag  steals  up  to  chair,  left,  just  as  Mabina  enters  by  the  left 
door,  shielding  her  candle-flame  with  her  hand,  and  not  looking 
towards  the  bed. 

MABINA  (speaking  over  her  shoulder  to  Aide).  Tread  softly, 
Alcie,  and  make  no  noise !  (Draught  blows  out  candle)  What's 

the 

[Hears  rustle  by  bed,  where  Shag  is  trying  to  creep  by  unnoticed. 
Turns,  facing  door  left,  sees  him,  shrieks,  drops  candlestick,  in 
momentary  terror  claps  hands  across  her  eyes  as  if  to  dispel  the 
vision.  Meanwhile  Ratkin  and  Troll  disappear  through  panel, 
Shag  rushing  madly  after  them. 


The  Silver  Thread  93 

MABINA  (shaken  with  terror).  Oh,  it  was  something  alive,  it  was 
something  more  than  a  shadow!  (Looks  towards  bed)  Her 
Highness!  Where  is  her  Highness?  (Aide  enters  as  Mabina 
runs  to  gong  and  begins  to  strike  it)  Oh,  rouse  the  guards- 
men! 

ALCIE  (also  terrified).   What  is  it,  Mabina? 

ATTENDANTS  (entering  hurriedly  left).   What  is  it? 

MABINA  (wildly,  as  the  stage  fills  with  clamour  and  excitement) . 
The  boy  spoke  truth!  The  boy  spoke  truth!  The  Goblins 
have  stolen  the  Princess !  There  —  there  is  the  panel  by 
which  the  Goblins  entered ! 

THORWALD  (excitedly).   There  is,  indeed,  an  opening!    It  gives 
beneath  my  touch.    The  torch,  there,  Gundred. 
[They  look  at  passageway  leading  down  from  panel. 

ALCIE  (hysterically).  The  miner  lad  spoke  truly.  The  Princess 
is  gone,  and  she  could  not  have  passed  through  the  halls 
without  our  seeing. 

THORWALD.   Be  still!     Be  still!     (To  guards)     See,  there's  a 
passage  hewn  to  this  very  chamber.     Down,  then,  to  the 
rescue !    We  will  follow ! 
[Gundred  starts  to  descend. 

SOLBERG.  Gundred  sticks  fast!  A  curse  on  our  broad  shoul- 
ders! The  passage  is  too  narrow.  We  must  blast  it. 

MABINA  (at  left  of  stage,  standing  alone  save  for  Aide,  to  whom 
she  speaks).  Run!  Fetch  the  boy  from  the  courtyard!  Oh, 
if  I  had  but  listened!  (Exit  Aide  hurriedly,  left.  Hubbub  of 
voices  as  guards  hurry  to  work:  The  cellar!  Blasting 
powder !  Rouse  the  miners  !) 

MABINA  (tensely  to  herself,  her  hands  clasped).  The  Princess! 
The  Princess! 

THORWALD  (directing  groups  and  individuals).  Strike  the  great 
gong  in  the  courtyard!  Quick,  signal  fires.  Speed  messen- 
gers! 

[General  stir  and  preparation.     Cubert  enters,  left,  followed  by 
Aide. 

MABINA  (running  to  him).  Oh,  miner  lad,  forgive  me,  and  think 
quickly !  The  passage  is  too  narrow  for  the  guardsmen ! 


94  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

CUBERT  (rushing  to  panel).  But  not  for  me!    I'm  goblin-sized, 
Mabina. 

SOLBERG.   We  are  to  blast  it. 

THORWALD  (to  Gundred).   Then  bid  them  stay  the  blasting  till 
the  lad  has  time  to  reach  the  Goblins. 
[Exit  Gundred,  left. 

SOLBERG   (doubtfully).  What  will  a  mere  lad  do  against  so 
many? 

CUBERT  (standing  at  the  panel,  facing  audience,  his  face  upraised 
and  shining,  his  voice  a-thrill).   What  will  the  Princess  do 
amongst  so  many  unless  one  voice  shall  tell  her  help  is  com- 
ing? 
[He  goes  down  the  passage. 

ALCIE  (passionately;  hands  clasped).   Oh,  speed  that  help!    Com- 
fort the  little  Princess! 

[Mabina  has  darted  to  window  at  left  background,  and  stands 
there  for  an  instant.  Through  the  window  are  seen  signal-lights 
darting  into  flame  along  the  dark  ridges  of  the  hills.  Sound  of 
a  gong  struck  in  the  courtyard  below,  swift  and  insistent.  New 
lights  continually  spring  into  being  on  the  dark  hillsides.  It  is 
evident  that  the  news  is  spreading. 

MABINA   (her  voice  a  clear  cry).   The  countryside  is  rousing! 
Look!    Look!    The  signal-fires! 

QUICK   CURTAIN 


ACT  III 

SCENE  I 

The  Goblins9  council  hall,  a  short  time  past  midnight.  It  is  an 
underground  chamber  closely  resembling  the  forge  room  in  that  it 
is  all  of  jagged  rock.  Iron  lamps  are  fitted  into  the  wall.  They 
give  a  dullish  glow. 

In  the  center  background  a  rude  throne  of  rock,  and  beyond  it, 
in  the  background,  right,  a  slab-like  space  in  the  otherwise  rough 
wall,  with  a  huddle  of  stones  beneath  it  closely  resembling  steps. 


The  Silver  Thread  95 

At  the  right,  towards  the  foreground,  there  is  an  indenture  in  the 
stone  wall  which  forms  a  natural  niche. 

There  is  a  passage  at  left  (background)  which  leads  to  the  castle 
cellars;  and  a  passage  at  right  (background)  which  leads  to  cham- 
bers still  deeper  underground. 

At  the  rise  of  the  curtain  the  stage  is  deserted,  but  after  a  mo- 
ment the  Goblins  begin  to  enter,  bearing  the  Princess,  still  asleep, 
on  the  slip  mattress.     This  they  place  in  the  center  of  the  stage, 
after  which  they  crouch  about  in  it  a  semicircle,  watching  her. 
KOLL  (as  the  Princess  is  carried  in).   Never  a  sound!     Tread 

softly!    She  still  sleeps! 

MOTTLESNOUT  (indicating  the  center  of  the  stage,  towards  fore- 
ground, and  pointing  to  slip  mattress).   Shall  we  place  it  here? 
KING  SHADOWCOB.   Yes,  here. 
RATKIN.   Hush!    She  is  waking! 

GWENDA  (stirring,  then  sitting  up  and  rubbing  her  eyes  as  she 
gazes  about  her,  terrified,  bewildered).  Where  am  I?  Where 
am  I?  Oh,  I  thought  I  was  safe  in  my  own  little  bed  with 
Mabina  beside  me!  Yet  if  this  is  a  nightmare,  why  don't  I 
awaken?  (With  poignant  terror)  The  shadows  that  I  feared 
—  they've  come  alive!  They're  staring  at  me!  Where  am 
I?  (Very  piteously)  Who  are  you? 
KING  SHADOWCOB.  The  Goblins,  Princess,  amongst  whom  you 

have  come  to  live. 
GWENDA.   To  live?     Here?     (Brokenly,  yet  trying  to  be  brave) 

Why,  you  are  jesting! 

KING  SHADOWCOB.   A  Goblin  never  jests,  your  Highness. 
GWENDA.   Oh,  nothing  but  a  jest  could  be  so  cruel.    No,  no, 
good  Goblins,  'tis  but  half-earnest  that  you  speak.     If  you 
will  take  me  back,  the  King,  my  father,  will  reward  you  gen- 
erously.   Oh,  take  me  home,  good  Goblin,  take  me  home. 
Indeed,  indeed,  my  father  will  reward  you. 
KING  SHADOWCOB.   Who  comes  with  us,  Princess,  does  not  re- 
turn again. 

GWENDA  (proudly).   The  guards  will  search  for  me. 
KING  SHADOWCOB.   Small  good  will  be  their  searching.    If  they 
should  try  to  follow,  we  have  means  to  stop  them.    There 


96  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

are  few  who  can  probe  the  ways  of  goblin  cunning.  There 
are  none  who  can  trace  our  paths  so  far  beneath  the  ground. 
[He  gives  pantomimic  directions  for  Roll  and  Troll  to  remove 
slip  mattress,  which  they  carry  to  the  back  of  the  stage. 

GWENDA  (to  herself).  Cubert,  the  miner  boy  —  if  he  knew,  he 
would  aid  me!  I  am  the  daughter  of  a  King.  A  Princess 
should  not  falter. 

[She  tries  to  face  them  with  courage,  but,  after  an  instant,  hides 
her  eyes  with  her  hands. 

RATKIN  (with  interest).  It  is  as  Troll  told  us!  Salt-water  is  be- 
ginning to  trickle  out  of  her  eyes! 

KING  SHADOWCOB.  That  comes  from  being  used  to  daylight. 
Soon,  Princess,  you  will  learn  to  love  the  dark.  We  will  teach 
you  the  ways  of  those  who  live  beneath  the  earth.  Up,  then, 
Goblins !  We  must  prepare  for  ceremony.  The  throne-robe, 
Koll.  The  scepter,  Ratkin. 
[General  stir,  which  takes  the  Goblins  to  the  back  of  the  stage. 

GWENDA  (to  herself).  I  must  not  anger  them.  I  must  do  as 
they  bid  me  until  help  arrives! 

[At  the  back  of  the  stage  the  throne  has  been  covered  with  the 
dully  sparkling  throne-robe,  so  that  it  forms  a  royal  seat. 

MOTTLESNOUT.   Princess,  your  throne  awaits  you. 

[He  leads  her  to  the  background.  The  Goblins  divide,  standing 
in  semicircle  about  the  throne.  The  Princess  shudders,  shrink- 
ing from  Motilesnout*  s  touch. 

KING  SHADOWCOB  (as  Gwenda  is  seated  on  throne).  You  will  not 
shrink  when  you  have  known  us  longer,  Princess.  When 
you  are  older  you  will  marry  Prince  Slumpkin,  and  be  our 
Queen.  Now  you  shall  meet  the  Goblins  one  by  one,  and 
learn  to  call  them  each  by  name. 

[In  pantomime  the  foremost  Goblins  are  presented.  The  rest, 
standing  in  broken  semicircle,  fall  on  one  knee.  Grotesque  imi- 
tation of  court  ceremony. 

KING  SHADOWCOB  (leading  Gwenda  to  center  foreground).  Come, 
now,  Princess,  since  we've  pledged  our  fealty  to  you,  you 
shall  do  us  the  same  in  turn.  You  shall  drink  to  the  Gob- 
lins. Ratkin,  a  cup  of  goblin  wine! 


The  Silver  Thread  97 

[Ratkin  brings  the  grotesque  goblet  filled  with  the  wine  which 
the  GobUns  made  in  the  first  act. 

GWENDA  (surrounded  by  Goblins,  puts  the  cup  to  her  lips,  and 
then  shudders).   No!    No!    I  cannot. 
[Thrusts  goblet  blindly  into  Ratkin' s  hands. 

KING  SHADOWCOB  (grimly).   We  are  waiting,  Princess. 

RATKIN.   A  health,  Princess.    A  health  to  the  Goblins! 
[Thrusts  forward  the  cup. 

GWENDA  (shudderingly  retreating  a  step  or  two,  and  speaking  pas- 
sionately).  I  cannot  "drink  it! 

RATKIN   (as  Goblins  close  menacingly  about  her,  while  Cubert 
swiftly  enters  from  passage,  left).   Nay,  but  you  shall! 

CUBERT   (crashing  down  cup  from  Ratkin9 s  hand).   Not  while 
my  ax  can  speak! 

GWENDA  (with  a  cry).   Cubert!    I  hoped  you'd  come! 

[Clings  to  him  in  passion  of  relief.  Goblins  wrench  them  apart. 
Babble  of  goblin  voices.  "It's  the  miner  lad."  "Seize  him!" 
"Rend  him."  "Tear  him  limb  from  limb."  Gwenda,  unable 
to  aid  Cubert,  is  swept  in  niche  of  the  wall,  right,  where  she  re- 
mains during  what  ensues.  Cubert  fights  silently  and  stub- 
bornly, at  right,  while  Shadowcob,  with  a  group  of  Goblins,  at 
left,  holds  animated  discussion.  Cubert  fights  with  his  back  to 
left  group,  and  is  too  occupied  with  defending  himself  to  ob- 
serve what  follows. 

KING  SHADOWCOB  (watching  the  struggle}.   He  is  strong,  for  all 
that  he  is  nearly  the  same  size  as  ourselves!    He  must  have 
chanced  on  our  secret  passage.     (To  Ratkin)     Go  search  if 
there  be  others  of  his  kind. 
[Exit  Ratkin,  left. 

MOTTLESNOUT.   He  would  not  have  dared  to  face  so  many  of 
us  if  he  had  not  known  that  help  was  near.     The  castle 
guards  must  be  rousing! 
[He  darts  after  Ratkin. 

SLUMPKIN  (excitedly).   Rousing  and  following! 

[Runs  toward  background:  then  pauses,  tensely,  waiting  for  news. 

RATKIN  (returning  with  Mottlesnout).   The  castle-folk  are  blast- 
ing at  the  cellar.    I  can  hear  the  echo. 


98  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

CLAWFOOT.  The  miner  lad  would  never  have  faced  so  many  of 
us  if  he  had  not  known  that  help  was  near. 

KING  SHADOWCOB  (indicating  passage  at  left}.   Then,  Troll,  take 
picks,  and  unloose  the  river  from  its  bed. 
[Group  of  Goblins,  armed  with  picks,  dart  after  Troll,  up  pas- 
sageway, left. 

CUBERT  (to  himself,  in  a  tense,  clear  whisper).  The  river! 
(Aloud,  and  valiantly,  as  he  still  fights)  Have  courage,  Prin- 
cess! Good  help  is  soon  coming! 

[The  struggle  sways  towards  the  left  of  the  stage.  Slumpkin 
darts  towards  the  niche  in  the  right  wall. 

SLUMPKIN  (with  jeering  laughter).  When  good  help  comes  it 
will  not  find  her ! 

[Cubert  perceives  that  Slumpkin  is  approaching  Gwenda.  With 
a  sudden,  superhuman  effort  he  wrenches  himself  free,  seizes  a 
goblin  crowbar  from  the  Goblin  nearest  him,  and  stands  in  front 
of  Gwenda  ere  Slumpkin  can  reach  her,  the  crowbar  menacingly 
upheld  in  his  hand. 

CUBERT.  Touch  her  not  on  your  life!  Which  of  you  chooses  a 
cleft  skull?  Come  forward! 

[For  a  moment  the  Goblins  fall  back,  leaving  a  clear  space  about 
Cubert.  Then,  gradually,  they  begin  to  close  in  again.  Half 
the  Goblins  are  taking  directions  from  Shadowcob,  left.  The 
others  surround  Cubert,  right.  The  fight  goes  against  him.  — 
While  he  is  engaging  the  Goblins  nearest  him,  a  smaller  Goblin, 
unnoticed  by  Cubert,  slides  snake-fashion  along  the  ground,  and 
catches  Cubert  by  the  feet.  He  is  then  tripped,  caught,  and 
wrenched  into  the  center  of  the  stage,  while  other  Goblins  seize 
and  hold  the  Princess.  Cubert,  seeing  that  he  is  overmatched, 
stands  quietly  for  an  instant,  as  one  who  would  hoard  his 
strength  against  a  final  effort. 

KING  SHADOWCOB.  So,  miner's  lad,  does  your  tongue  wag  as 
bravely,  and  your  heart  beat  as  stoutly  as  it  did  a  moment 
since? 

CUBERT  (defiantly).   I  fear  neither  you  nor  your  Goblins! 
[At  this,  Mottlesnout  and  Koll  fly  at  Cubert  angrily,  and  it  seems 
as  if  the  struggle  would  begin  again. 


The  Silver  Thread  99 

KING  SHADOWCOB.   Gently,  gently,  Mottlesnout!     Remember 
he  is  of  more  use  to  us  alive  than  dead.    We  will  force  him 
to  work  at  our  forge  fire,  and  he  will  serve  us  well. 
[Ratkin,  followed  by  other  Goblins  who  have  been  assisting  him 
up  passageway,  left,  suddenly  returns. 

RATKIN  (at  top  of  his  lungs).   Danger!    Danger! 

KING  SHADOWCOB.   What  ails  you,  Ratkin? 

RATKIN  (breathlessly).  Sire,  the  outward  walls  of  our  passage 
are  worn  so  thin  that  at  the  first  stroke  of  my  pick  the  water 
came  rushing  through  a  thousand  times  faster  than  we 
planned.  'Tis  a  muddy  torrent  sweeping  all  before  it. 

KING  SHADOWCOB  (in  a  frenzy  of  terror) .  Down  to  your  lower 
caverns,  Goblins,  if  you'd  save  your  lives !  The  river  is  break- 
ing in  upon  us!  Leave  the  lad!  He  cannot  harm  us.  We 
have  not  time  to  deal  with  him. 

A  GOBLIN  (pausing  by  Gwenda).   And  the  little  Princess? 

CUBERT  (again  rushing  to  the  rescue,  crowbar  in  hand).  You 
shall  taste  again  what  you  felt  before. 

TROLL  (to  Roll,  who  approaches  the  Princess).  Leave  her,  Koll. 
It  is  not  worth  the  struggle!  (Goblins  swarm  out,  right) 
Hark  to  the  river!  We  have  no  time  to  lose! 

KOLL  (with  savage  menace  jat  Cubert).  But  I  would  make  an 
end! 

TROLL.   The  river  will  do  that!    Harken! 

[They  scamper  out,  the  last  of  the  Goblins  to  go. 

CUBERT.   The  river!  .  .  .  Wait,  Princess! 

[He  runs  up  the  passageway  at  left,  from  whence  comes  a  sound 
as  of  a  torrent  of  water  rushing  at  a  great  distance  away,  yet 
coming  gradually  nearer  and  nearer.  It  is  a  faint  sound  at 
first,  yet  it  increases  slowly  and  steadily  during  the  ensuing' 
moments.  It  is  never  loud,  but  it  is  more  and  more  ominous. 
Cubert  comes  back  after  an  instant,  feeling  his  ankles.  The 
iron  lamps  in  the  wall  begin  to  flicker  and  give  a  fainter  and 
fainter  light. 

GWENDA  (peering  at  Cubert  through  the  growing  darkness,  per- 
ceives that  he  touches  his  ankles,  and  also  that  they  .are  water- 
drenched).  Why,  they  are  wet!  The  mine  will  soon  be 


100  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

flooded!    The  water  will  pour  down  the  passageway  ere  the 
castle-folk  can  reach  us! 

CUBERT.  No!  No!  Princess!  There's  some  way  out.  I'll 
find  it.  Courage!  'Tis  but  some  trick!  Some  goblin  evil! 
(He  runs  to  passage,  right)  There's  nothing  but  a  long  dark 
passage  leading  deeper  into  the  earth! 

GWENDA.    Can  we  not  follow? 

CUBERT.   We  cannot  breathe  the  air  that  Goblins  breathe.    So 
far  underground  we  should  smother  and  die. 
[Looks  about  for  another  means  of  escape. 

GWENDA  (standing  near  Cubert  as  he  pauses  by  rocky  wall  at  left 
foreground).  It  is  true,  then,  what  the  Goblins  said?  We  are 
to  die? 

CUBERT.  Courage,  Princess!  Oh,  if  the  castle-folk  would  only 
Thasten!  Oh,  if  they  could  but  reach  this  council  hall! 

GWENDA.   It's  growing  darker  and  darker! 

CUBERT.  Courage,  sweet  Princess,  courage!  (To  himself,  with 
face  uplifted)  And  yet  .  .  .  how  can  —  I  —  speak  of  cour- 
age. ...  I,  who  am  beginning  to  be  afraid!  (His  words  end 
in  a  tense  whisper.  Then,  with  a  visible  effort,  he  pulls  himself 
together)  Well,  what  of  it?  I'll  face  my  fear!  I'll  meet  the 
dark  as  a  miner's  son  should !  If  I  had  but  a  flint  with  which 
to  strike  a  light.  (Gropes  in  his  pockets)  They're  empty! 
Empty?  Why,  there's  the  ring!  (Draws  it  forth)  My  ring! 
She  said  that  it  would  guide  me!  (Puts  it  on.  Faint  music 
as  in  Act  I.  By  this  time  the  stage  has  grown  absolutely  dark) 
Isn't  that  her  music?  There's  something  stretching  out  be- 
neath the  ring  like  a  spider's  web !  (At  this  a  Silver  Thread 
with  a  curious  light  about  it  is  seen  through  the  dark.  It  leads 
from  where  Cubert  stands,  left,  to  the  irregular  stone  steps,  right 
background.  At  sight  of  it  Cubert' s  voice  rings  out,  electrified) 
It's  shining  through  the  dark  before  us!  (Follows  it  slowly, 
leading  the  Princess)  It's  a  silver  thread  —  a  silver  thread 
of  safety!  I'll  follow  it  and  trust  The  Woman  from  Beyond 
the  Hills!  'Tis  her  White  Magic!  .  .  .  I'll  follow.  The 
flood  cannot  hurt  us.  ...  It  cannot  dim  its  light.  .  .  . 
We'll  follow.  , 


The  Silver  Thread. 

[The  music,  which  has  been  growing  gradually  louder,  now 
swells  into  a  splendid  harmony.  A  door  of  stone  swings  open 
at  the  top  of  the  irregular  stone  steps  in  background,  and  beyond 
it  is  seen  a  vista  of  hills  bathed  in  pale  moonlight. 

CUBERT  (in  a  thrilled  voice).  Princess!  We're  free!  We're 
done  with  fearing!  'Tis  the  wane  o'  the  moon.  The  dawn 
wind  is  astir! 

GWENDA.  How  soft  it  blows  against  my  face!  O  wind,  teach 
us,  teach  us  where  lies  safety! 

CUBERT  (joyfully  expectant).  O  Silver  Thread,  guide  us  —  guide 
us  now  to  safety! 

[He  moves,  with  uplifted  face,  his  finger  following  the  Silver 
Thread,  his  arm  protectingly  about  the  little  Princess.  The 
light  moves  with  him,  following  him  as  he  exits.  The  door 
closes  behind  him.  The  stage  instantly  grows  black.  There  is 
a  wild  sound  like  the  thunder  of  waters  tearing  through  the  pas- 
sage, as  the  curtain  falls. 

SCENE  II 

Cubert's  home,  the  same  as  in  Act  I.  Faint  moonlight,  giving 
way  to  the  blackness  that  comes  before  the  dawn.  Against  the  hori- 
zon, signal  fires  a-light.  Dame  Morna  enters  from  without, 
pauses  in  doorway,  and  speaks  as  one  to  whom  the  silence  is  in- 
tolerable, and  the  sound  of  any  human  voice  —  even  her  own  —  a 
comfort. 

DAME  MORNA.  Still  fires  a-blaze,  and  men  at  work !  More  men. 
And  yet  no  sign  of  Cubert  and  the  Princess.  Oh,  I  would 
work  with  the  men  myself,  but  there  is  nought  that  I  can 
do  to  aid  them.  They  have  no  need  for  women  folk  at  such 
an  hour.  The  dark  before  the  dawn,  and  yet  no  sign !  Only 
blackness.  Oh,  if  the  castle  guards  had  reached  the  passage 
in  time,  but  now  the  mine  is  flooded  with  water  —  the  river 
is  rushing  in.  (With  flicker  of  hope)  And  yet  —  there  may 
be  other  passages  —  goblin  passages  that  folk  do  not  know. 
Cubert  is  quick  and  brave!  I  know  he'll  find  them!  But 
oh  —  the  waiting!  (Sound  of  faint  music)  What's  that? 
What's  that?  'Tis  like  an  echo!  Now  I  remember  —  'twas 


A   Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

The  Woman  from  Beyond  the  Hills  —  an  echo  of  her  music. 
What  was  it  that  she  said?  That  folk  must  face  their  fear- 
ing. So  if  my  lad  must  die,  is  it  not  well  that  he  should  die 
defending?  (With  face  upraised)  Fight  bravely  in  the  Dark, 
my  little  Cubert!  And  yet  —  he  may  not  die.  I  have  no 
beacon-light,  and  yet  —  oh,  here  within  me  —  the  fire  of 
Hope  —  I'll  keep  it  burning  strongly.  Oh,  if  that  hope 
could  reach  him  through  the  darkness!  There  are  things  be- 
yond my  knowing.  Perhaps  it  may.  Perhaps  it  may.  I'll 
set  out  milk,  and  keep  the  hearthstone  warm.  (Bends  at 
hearth)  Was  that  a  step?  (Turns)  A  voice  in  the  dark- 
ness? 

CUBERT  (entering  with  the  Princess).  A  step?  There  spoke  my 
mother! 

DAME  MORNA.  Cubert!  'Tis  you!  (Clasps  him  to  her)  Your 
very  self!  (Holds  out  welcoming  hands)  And  the  little  Prin- 
cess   ! 

CUBERT.  All  safe,  all  safe,  my  mother.  I  brought  her  first  to 
your  warm  arms  and  tender  care. 

DAME  MORNA  (as  she  leads  the  Princess  to  the  hearth).  You  are 
not  going,  Cubert? 

CUBERT  (pausing).   To  tell  the  news,  my  mother.     Why,  you 
would  scarce  believe  it;  but  of  all  the  folk  who  are  stirring 
we  met  not  a  single  one! 
[Exit  Cubert. 

GWENDA  (seated  at  hearth).  No,  all  was  dark  around  us  save  for 
the  Silver  Thread  that  ran  beneath  Cubert's  fingers  —  the 
Silver  Thread  that  came  from  the  ring  and  guided  us  to 
safety. 

DAME  MORNA  (to  herself).  The  ring  —  the  ring  that  would  save 
him  if  he  did  not  fear.  Oh,  that  was  Wisdom's  wisdom! 

GWENDA.   What  say  you,  Dame  Morna? 

DAME  MORNA.  Drink  this  milk,  my  Princess.  So  cold  you  are, 
and  wet  with  dew.  Stand  closer  to  the  fire. 

GWENDA.  I  am  not  cold,  Dame  Morna.  Listen!  They're 
cheering!  (Runs  to  window)  Why,  'tis  my  father  on  the 
highroad  to  the  castle!  'Tis  the  King,  my  father!  He  has 


The  Silver  Thread  103 

come  back,  and  I  must  run  to  meet  him.    Give  me  the  cloak, 
Dame  Morna.    I  must  tell  him  all. 
[Exit  Gwenda. 

DAME  MORNA  (watching  at  window).  He  has  lifted  her  up  to  his 
saddle,  and  my  son  stands  there  beside  him.  They  are  com- 
ing here. 

KING  RADNOR  (entering,  followed  by  Gwenda  and  Cubert).  I  seek 
the  happy  mother  of  a  brave  son.  I  can  offer  Dame  Morna 
nothing;  for  in  Cubert  she  possesses  more  than  the  gold  of 
kings.  But  to  Dame  Morna's  son,  for  all  that  he  has  done 
this  night,  I  will  give  that  which  he  asks,  and  I  will  not  stint 
the  giving. 

CUBERT.  I  humbly  thank  your  Majesty;  but  there  is  little 
that  I  wish  save  a  velvet  gown  for  my  mother,  and  a  new 
pickax  for  myself. 

KING  RADNOR.  I  would  have  given  you  the  hah*  of  my  king- 
dom, boy! 

CUBERT  (confused).  Indeed,  sire,  I  would  not  know  what  to 
do  with  half  a  kingdom! 

KING  RADNOR.  Yet  it  is  wise  heads  and  brave  hearts  such  as 
yours  that  should  help  kings  to  rule. 

GWENDA  (smiling  at  Cubert).  That  means  you'll  come  to  the 
castle  every  day. 
[Solberg  enters,  breathlessly,  and  falls  on  one  knee  before  the  King. 

KING  RADNOR.   Why,  how  now,  Solberg? 

SOLBERG.  I  bring  you  great  news,  Sire.  The  schemes  of  the 
Goblins  have  fallen  on  their 'own  wicked  heads.  The  river 
that  they  turned  from  its  course  has  become  a  raging  tor- 
rent. It  has  broken  in  the  walls  of  their  very  deepest  pas- 
sages, penetrating  far  beneath  their  council  hall.  The  hideous 
bodies  of  dead  Goblins  fill  the  mines.  There's  not  one  left  to 
tell  the  tale. 
[King  makes  gesture  of  dismissal;  Solberg  rises,  bows,  and  exits. 

GWENDA  (quickly).   So  you  see,  father,  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
Cubert,  I  wouldn't  be  here  now.    I  need  no  longer  fear  the 
shadows ! 
[King  and  Princess  exeunt. 


104  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

CUBERT  (joyfully).  You'll  be  going  to  Court,  my  mother,  and 
wear  a  velvet  gown! 

DAME  MORNA.  What  do  I  care  for  velvets,  now  that  I  have 
you  safe? 

CUBERT  (at  door:  the  sky  is  flushed  with  dawn;  the  signal  fires 
are  quenched).  See,  mother,  see! 

DAME  MORNA.    See  what,  dear  lad  o'  mine? 

CUBERT  (in  a  wonder-thrilled  voice).  Look!  There  where  the 
sun  is  rising  the  strange  old  woman  of  yesterday  stood  for  a 
moment  on  that  hilltop,  and  the  light  was  on  her  face,  and 
as  I  looked  at  her  she  smiled.  (Turning  back  into  room) 
What  think  you  that  it  means  —  the  visit  she  paid  us,  the 
ring  she  gave  me,  the  Silver  Thread  that  guided  me  to 
safety?  Does  it  mean  that  if  we  are  brave  and  steadfast 
the  dark  will  always  clear?  Does  it  mean  that  faith  and 
courage  help  to  lead  us  upward? 

DAME  MORNA  (her  arm  about  him).  Aye,  son,  until  we  come 
unto  the  light  at  last! 

CURTAIN 


ABOUT  THE  TESTING  OF  SIR  GAWAYNE 

If  you  read  Malory 's  "Morte  d' Arthur"  or  Tennyson's 
"Idylls  of  the  King";  if  you  lose  yourself  in  the  fascinating 
pages  of  Sidney  Lanier's  "The  Boy's  King  Arthur"  or  How- 
ard Pyle's  King  Arthur  stories,  you  will  come  to  understand 
what  is  meant  by  tales  of  chivalry.  For  the  Knights  of  the 
Round  Table,  like  the  Chevalier  Bayard  of  later  day,  —  "the 
good  knight  without  fear  and  without  reproach"  —  were  de- 
fenders of  the  weak  and  upholders,  for  the  most  part,  of  right- 
eousness. 

There  are  different  opinions  regarding  the  character  of  Sir 
Gawayne,  but  the  weight  of  belief  is  that  his  worth  was  greater 
than  he  took  credit  for.  Miss  Merington  turned  to  the  Arthur- 
ian legends  in  her  effort  to  "place  the  best  of  whatever  its  kind 
within  the  reach  of  my  friends  The  Children,  in  the  form  of 
innocent  merriment."  She  has  not  only  caught  the  beauty  of 
manner  in  her  little  play,  but  as  well  the  beauty  of  expression 
with  which  the  Knight  used  to  reflect  the  goodness  welling  in 
his  heart.  There  are  many  dramas  of  Greek  heroes  and 
of  Robin  Hood's  merry  men,  but  none  written  with  that 
distinction  of  style  which  marks  "The  Testing  of  Sir 
Gawayne." 

Miss  Merington,  writer  of  many  plays,  the  most  successful 
of  which  was  "Captain  Letterblair,"  in  which  the  actor,  E.  H. 
Sothern,  met  his  first  success,  was  a  chivalric  friend  of  the 
dramatist,  Clyde  Fitch,  who,  though  he  never  wrote  a  play 
for  children  (young  folks  would,  nevertheless,  enjoy  his  "Nathan 
Hale"  and  "Barbara  Frietchie"),  caught  the  spirit  of  child- 
hood in  a  refreshing  volume  of  short  stories,  "The  Knighting 
of  the  Twins."  Miss  Merington's  "Festival  Plays"  and  "Pic- 
ture Plays"  and  "Holiday  Plays"  represent,  in  part,  her  efforts 


106  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

to  write  actable  pieces  for  all  occasions.  Read  her  "Father 
Time  and  His  Children,"  in  "Festival  Plays,"  and  contrast 
it  with  Christina  Rossetti's  "The  Months."  The  one  is 
written  for  practical  purposes  of  production;  the  other  is  a 
poet's  conception  worked  out  in  a  poet's  way. 


THE  TESTING  OF  SIR  GAWAYNE 

All  Hallowe'en 


BY  MARGUERITE  MERINGTON 


COPYRIGHT,  1913,  BY  DUFFIELD  AND  COMPANY 

From  "Festival  Plays." 

For  Dramatic  use  of  this  play  application  must  be  made  to  the  publishers,  Duffield  & 
Company,  New  York. 


THE  TESTING   OF  SIR  GAWAYNE 

What  follows  takes  place  at  King  Arthur's  Court  in  merry 
Carlisle,  on  the  Eve  of  All-Hallowmass  when  strange  things  hap- 
pen .  .  .  when  the  wicked  crafts  of  sorcery  work  havoc  with 
knightly  adventure,  and  when  enchantments  bring  about  marvel- 
ous endings  in  affairs  of  love.  We  find  ourselves  looking  back- 
ward through  the  years  upon  a  scene  that  renews  itself  before  our 
eyes  in  the  castle  hall.  On  one  side  is  the  banqueting-hall,  and 
this  way  the  servants  pass  to  the  kitchen  [kitching  we  shall  hear 
it  called  by  Sir  Kay,  the  steward  or  Seneschal].  On  the  other 
side  the  members  of  the  Court  pass  to  their  sleeping-chambers  or 
to  the  massive  door  that  opens  to  the  outer  world.  A  window 
gives,  first,  the  light  of  late  afternoon  in  autumn,  then  moonlight, 
and  finally  a  bright  dawn.  A  fire  on  the  great  hearth  affords  a 
cheerful  glow.  When  it  is  necessary  to  light  the  hall  servants  will 
set  torches  in  their  sockets  against  the  wall.  The  walls  are  adorned 
with  trophies  of  the  chase,  and  with  the  arms  of  knight-errantry. 
A  table,  settees,  a  few  plain  chairs,  and  throne-chairs  for  the 
King  and  Queen  suffice  for  furnishing.  We  shall  now  and  then 
be  taxed  in  our  memory  of  French  and  Latin  to  understand  some 
of  the  expressions  we  shall  hear  .  .  .  as,  for]  instance,  when 
someone  bidding  others  leave  the  room  cries,  "Avoid!  Avoid!" 
or  when  the  word  "quest"  is  used  at  one  time  as  we  should  say 
"question,"  and  at  another  for  "adventure"  We  shall  observe, 
too,  that  forms  we  have  been  taught  to  consider  common  or  un- 
grammatical,  obtained  then  in  polite  language,  such  as  "afore1' 
where  we  now  say  "before,"  or  the  double  negative,  "not  never." 
This  is  something  that  should  make  us  hesitate  before  we  criticise 
the  speech  of  simple  people,  country-folk,  and  ask  ourselves  if 
their  homely  phrase  is  not  after  all  but  a  survival  of  the  elegance 
of  days  gone  by.  It  will  interest  us  furthermore  to  note,  in  these 


110          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

days  of  chivalry,  when  religion,  love,  and  deeds  of  arms  are  the 
topics  of  the  chronicler,  how  freely,  though  not  lightly,  the  names 
of  Holy  Persons  are  invoked  in  conversation.  The  Characters 
whom  we  shall  see  enact  the  little  drama  are  King  Arthur  and 
his  lovely  Queen  Guinevere,  several  Knights  of  the  Round  Table, 
including  Sir  Kay,  the  gruff  steward  or  Seneschal,  Sir  Bors,  Sir 
Bleoberis,  Sir  Meliogrance,  and  Sir  Gawayne,  about  whom  the 
story  concerns  itself.  Then  there  is  the  Knight,  the  rescue  of 
whom  nearly  cost  Arthur  his  realm,  his  life,  and  his  queen.  Also 
there  is  the  Little  Page  who  for  his  precocious  valour  was  dubbed 
knight  and  thereafter  known  as  Sir  Griflet,  and  there  is  the  Out- 
rageous Giant  who  was  but  the  gallant  Knight  Delivere  under  a 
spell  of  enchantment.  Among  the  ladies  we  find  Dame  Laurel, 
and  the  Damosel  who  rode  in  such  breathless  haste  to  Arthur's 
Court,  seeking  aid  for  her  captive  Knight.  And,  most  important 
is  the  Deliverance  La  Belle  Pilgrim  who  was  mocked  at  for  being 
"a  loathly  lady."  And  of  course  there  are  Pages  and  Servants  and 
Gentlemen  and  Women  in  waiting  and  Squires  and  all  the  royal 
rest. 

The  Queen  is  seated  at  her  embroidery-frame,  some  of  her 
Ladies  similarly  occupied  about  her.  The  Damosel  sits  near, 
trying  to  fix  her  thoughts  upon  a  scroll  that  she,  however,  does 
not  read.  Some  of  the  Knights  are  occupying  themselves  peace- 
fully in  divers  ways,  two  playing  a  game  of  chess.  Someone 
sings  to  the  harp.  Meanwhile  the  Little  Page  keeps  watch  at 
the  window. 

GUINEVERE.  Are  there  no  signs  yet  of  my  lord  that  he  doth 
return? 

THE  PAGE.    Not  yet,  madam! 

GUINEVERE.  Alas!  Evensong  time  is  overpassed,  and  my  lord 
comes  not! 

THE  DAMOSEL.  Now  is  my  heart  more  heavier  than  ever  it 
was  before  for  the  sorrow  I  have  brought  upon  the  gen- 
tlest and  fairest  lady  of  the  world! 

GUINEVERE.  Ah,  you  do  well  to  let  fall  down  your  head  for 
shame,  for  we  had  never  been  in  this  sorry  pass  if  you  had 


The  Testing  of  Sir  Gawayne  111 

never  come  hitherward,  praying  King  Arthur  for  succour  for 
your  knight! 

THE  DAMOSEL.  Ah,  madam,  I  pray  you  of  mercy  to  mis-say 
me  no  more,  for  my  heart  is  like  to  brast  with  its  own  woe! 

SIR  KAY.  Madam,  you  are  greatly  to  blame  so  to  rebuke  the 
damosel,  for,  wit  ye  well,  of  his  own  will  my  lord  King 
Arthur  did  seek  and  take  him  upon  that  hard  adventure  he 
is  gone  upon! 

GUINEVERE.  So  God  me  help,  it  is  all  the  greater  shame  to  all 
you  noble  knights  that  your  fellowship  should  suffer  your 
King  to  take  such  an  adventure  upon  him  to  his  destruction ! 
(The  Knights  exclaim,  crying,  "Gramercy,  madam!  Now  by 
my  head,  etc."  But  much  wrought  up,  the  Queen  continues) 
Ah,  now,  I  see  well  that  all  coward  knights  be  not  dead, 
sith  you,  Sir  Bors,  and  you,  Sir  Bleoberis,  sit  playing  at  the 
chess,  the  while  my  dear  lord,  your  King,  may  be  mishandled 
and  smitten  down,  horse  and  man,  or  villainously  wounded, 
or,  perad venture,  slain! 
[The  two  Knights  thus  addressed  start  up,  angrily. 

SIR  BLEOBERIS.  Gramercy,  madam!  It  passeth  bounds  that 
you  should  put  the  suspection  of  cowardice  on  me,  and  there 
is  no  knight  under  heaven  that  dare  make  it  good  on  me! 

SIR  BORS.  Madam,  you  are  a  woman,  and  may  not  fight,  but 
let  now  some  worshipful  knight  of  our  fellowship  take  on 
himself  your  quarrel,  and  call  me  coward,  and  here  is  my 
glove  to  prove  the  contrary  with  my  hands  upon  his  body! 
[Throws  down  his  glove. 

SIR  MELIOGRANCE.  Then  here  am  I  known  to  all  men  as  Sir 
Meliogrance,  and  I  will  take  on  me  my  lady  the  Queen's 
quarrel,  and  I  will  joust  with  you,  Sir  Bleoberis,  and  you, 
Sir  Bors,  proving  you  recreant  knights  with  my  hands  upon 
your  bodies! 
[He  throws  down  his  glove. 

THE  DAMOSEL  (moans) .  Now  am  I  right  heavy  for  the  sorrow 
I  have  brought  upon  King  Arthur's  Court! 

A  LITTLE  PAGE  (runs  forward,  challengingly) .  Now  though 
hardly  of  years  to  bear  a  shield,  yet  if  some  worshipful  knight 


A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

of  this  fellowship  will  dub  me  his  knight,  then  will  I  too 
take  on  me  the  Queen's  quarrel,  jousting  with  the  knights 
of  these  worshipful  knights'  following,  for  leaver  would  I 
be  cut  into  an  hundred  pieces  than  that  my  dear  lady  should 
be  gainsay ed! 
[The  closing  words,  spoken  almost  with  sobs. 

SOME  OF  THE  LADIES.  Oh,  spoken  like  a  sweet  and  noble  child ! 
[Many  of  the  Knights  laugh. 

SIR  BORS  (affecting  to  shudder).     Boo-oo!    My  gentlemen  had 
best  look  well  to  their  arms,  now  that  a  raging  lion  is  come 
among  us! 
[A  fellow-Page  giggles  tauntingly  at  our  hero  who  turns  on  him. 

THE  LITTLE  PAGE.  I  am  of  gentle  blood,  and  but  for  lack  of 
beard,  as  well  entitled  to  bear  arms  as  any  of  this  worshipful 
fellowship,  and  if  anyone  is  so  venturesome  that  he  would 
say  the  contrary  I  will  make  it  good  with  my  body  upon  his 
body,  with  these  two  hands  tearing  him  limb  from  limb! 
[The  giggling  Page  retreats,  affrighted. 

SIR  BLEOBERIS  (with  impatience).  Is  this  a  pages'  affair  or  a 
quarrel  among  knights  of  worship  and  renown? 

GUINEVERE  (with  emotion).  Peace,  my  good  Griflet!  And  you, 
gentlemen,  forbear!  I  spake  over  hastily! 

SIR  KAY.  Peace,  daffish  knights!  Pick  up  your  gloves!  See 
ye  not  that  the  Queen  is  distraught  and  clean  out  of  her 
wits  with  anxiousness  for  the  safety  of  the  King?  .  .  . 
Madam,  you  do  ill  to  begrudge  King  Arthur  his  lone  quest- 
ings,  sith  all  men  of  high  courage  find  it  merry  to  serve 
under  a  chieftain  that  will  put  his  person  in  adventure  as 
other  poor  knights  do!  (To  this  there  is  a  general  murmur 
of  assent)  And  now,  as  the  tables  have  been  spread  this 
long  while,  for  the  third  time  of  asking,  will  it  pleasure  you 
to  sit  down  to  supper? 

[Another  general  murmur  shows  that  this  suggestion  meets  with 
favour. 

GUINEVERE.  Let  those  eat  and  drink  who  can!  My  heart  is 
too  heavy,  but  go  you  all,  my  lords  and  ladies,  gentlemen, 
and  gentlewomen!  Sit  you  down  to  meat  and  enjoy  the 


The  Testing  of  Sir  Gawayne  113 

feast!  Later  will  I  sup  privily  with  my  lord  on  his  return! 
...  As  for  you,  worshipful  knights,  let  me  who  provoked 
the  quarrel  between  you  heal  it  without  the  letting  of  good 
blood! 

[Before  the  would-be  combatants  can  prevent  her  she  herself  picks 
up  and  restores  their  thrown-down  gloves.  All  do  her  fitting 
obeisance,  and  pass  into  the  banqueting-hall  with  the  exception 
of  the  Damosel  and  the  Little  Page. 

SIR  BLEOBERIS  (as  they  go  out,  to  Sir  Eors).  Gramercy,  but  a 
good  game  was  spoiled!  I  had  you  mated  in  three  moves! 

SIR  BORS.     Not  so!     I  had  your  queen  in  forfeit! 

SIR  BLEOBERIS.     Ah,  the  Queen,  the  Queen!     "Tis  ever  the 
Queen  that  will  make  or  mar  the  fortunes  of  the  King! 
[From  the  banqueting-hall  one  hears  the  sounds  of  merry-making 
subdued,  and  the  strains  of  minstrelsy,  as  an  heroic  lay  is  sung 
to  the  accompaniment  of  the  harp. 

GUINEVERE.     Now  let  saddle  horses,  and  guided  by  you,  good 
damosel,  I  will  follow  after  my  lord  .  .  .  Hark!    I  hear 
an  horn  .  .  .  Arthur ! 
[The  winding  notes  of  the  horn  are  heard. 

THE  LITTLE  PAGE  (at  the  window).  Nay,  madam!  It  is  but 
Sir  Gawayne  who  returns  from  hunting! 

GUINEVERE.     Sir  Gawayne!      Let  send  for  him!     (The  Page 
hastens  out)     It  may  be  he  brings  tidings  of  my  lord! 
[The  Page  returns,  attending  on  Sir  Gawayne. 

SIR  GAWAYNE  (kneeling  to  kiss  the  hand  of  the  Queen).  Fair 
Queen  and  dear  Aunt  Guinevere!  But  wherefore  do  I  find 
you  in  such  heavy  cheer  with  the  tears  upon  your  cheeks? 

GUINEVERE.  Ah,  Gawayne!  Your  dear  uncle,  my  good  lord, 
the  King.  .  .  .  But  sit  we  down  and  ye  shall  hear! 
(They  sit)  It  was  yestreen  at  the  undern  hour  that  we  sat 
here,  listening  to  minstrelsy !  All  of  a  sudden  the  King  cried 
out,  "Now,  by  the  Holy  Rood  the  third  day  hence  will  be 
All-Hallowmass !  Now,  by  the  faith  of  my  body  and  on  my 
head  as  anointed  king,  will  I  not  set  me  down  to  meat  on 
All-Hallowmass  until  I  shall  have  taken  on  me  and  brought 
to  a  good  end  some  high  quest  that  shall  bring  to  me  and 


114  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

my  goodly  fellowship  great  worship  and  renown!"  Hardly 
had  he  so  spoken  when,  riding  into  the  hall,  came  this  damo- 
sel  who  thereon  alighted  from  her  palfrey  and  threw  herself 
flatling  at  my  good  lord's  feet  and  lay  there  grovelling  and 
praying  him  for  succour  for  her  knight ! 

THEDAMOSEL  (weeping).    Alas  that  ever  I  came! 

GUINEVERE.  Fie  upon  you  for  weeping  when  tears  are  all  no 
boot!  Relate  your  errand  to  Sir  Gawayne! 

THE  DAMOSEL.  It  f ortuned  in  this  wise :  my  troth  was  plighted 
that  I  should  be  wedded  to  a  passing  fair  gentleman  and 
knight  of  haut  renown,  a  true  lover,  and  deserving  of  a  good 
end!  As  together  we  rode  forth,  planning  for  our  marriage, 
we  passed  through  a  dark  forest  till  we  happed  upon  a  grimly 
castle!  As  we  gazed  upon  its  towers,  wondering  who  might 
dwell  therein,  out  rushed  a  churlish  knight,  oh,  a  mighty 
giant,  one  of  the  world's  perilous  fighters,  seven  times  the 
height  of  mortal  man,  and  with  the  strength  of  seven  men! 
(In  spite  of  his  bravado  the  Little  Page  shivers  audibly)  Nath- 
less  all  undaunted  my  knight  dressed  his  shield  and  set  his 
spear,  crying,  "How  now,  rude  Saracen!  An  ye  be  a  true 
fighter  come  and  prove  it,  spear  to  spear,  and  sword  to 
sword,  and  body  to  body!"  But  the  miscreant  laughed  in 
mockage,  and  set  on  my  poor  love,  belabouring  him  with 
a  huge  club,  and  dragged  him  down  from  his  saddle,  shiver- 
ing his  spear,  and  shattering  his  sword,  and  splitting  his  helm 
clear  through  to  the  brain-pan !  (At  this  tJie  Little  Page  shud- 
ders in  delighted  horror)  Ah,  Little  Page,  I  see  well  now  that 
ye  like  this  tale,  but  I  do  assure  you  it  is  no  matter  for  en- 
joyment! .  .  .  And  all  this  while  I  shrieked  shrilly  and 
kneeled  in  the  mire  before  the  churlish  wight,  with  my  two 
hands  lifted,  praying  him  for  the  love  of  Heaven  to  have  mercy 
on  my  knight!  But  the  murtherous  monster  only  laughed 
the  louder,  with  a  great  noise  like  thunder,  spitting  flames 
from  his  enormous  mouth,  and  bound  my  knight  hand  and 
feet  and  threw  him  into  the  dungeon  keep,  the  while  I,  leap- 
ing on  my  palfrey,  made  my  escape,  riding  hither,  like  the 
wind,  to  merry  Carlisle,  to  King  Arthur's  Court,  clear  into 


The  Testing  of  Sir  Gawayne  115 

this  very  hall,  and  threw  myself  at  the  King's  feet,  praying 

succour  for  my  love! 

'Weeps. 

GUINEVERE.  And  did  my  lord  stay  his  hand?  "Gramercy," 
cried  he,  "but  this  is  the  quest  that  even  now  I  prayed  for! 
Nor  by  the  faith  of  my  body  as  anointed  king  will  I  set  me 
down  to  meat  on  All-Hallowmass  or  ever  I  shall  have  brought 
it  to  a  good  end!"  And  then  he  made  no  more  words,  but 
took  his  shield  and  buckled  it  about  his  neck,  and  girt  on 
his  good  sword  Excalibur,  and  lightly  he  took  his  horse  and 
leaped  upon  him,  and  departed  on  his  way!  And,  though 
it  is  but  a  little  faring  hence,  last  night  went  by,  and  to-day 
the  hour  of  evensong  is  overpassed,  and  he  comes  not  back! 
[Weeps. 

SIR  GAWAYNE  (walks,  perturbed).  Now  meseemeth  for  to  tempt 
God  it  is  no  wisdom,  and  the  King  hath  put  this  realm  into 
the  greatest  domage  that  ever  realm  was  in  by  jeoparding 
his  life  in  hazard  with  a  giant! 

GUINEVERE.  Ye  say  truth !  —  Gawayne  —  (She  advances  to- 
ward the  Knight,  and  speaks  impressively)  All  other  knights 
of  the  good  fellowship  say  that  it  would  put  rebukes  on  Ar- 
thur, shaming  him  through  England,  Ireland,  Wales,  and 
Scotland,  for  to  seek  to  rescue  him  in  an  adventure  he  has 
made  oath  to  enterprise  alone!  But  I  say,  not  so,  sithen  it 
is  no  mortal  man  he  has  to  do  with,  but  a  churlish  wight, 
an  outrageous  giant,  armed  with  the  craft  of  sorcery! 

SIR  GAWAYNE  (struck  by  this  argument).  By  my  head,  that 
sounds  like  a  good  counsel! 

GUINEVERE  (following  up  her  advantage) .  Then  by  your  knight- 
hood and  fealty  do  I  charge  ye,  take  upon  yourself  this 
matter ! 

SIR  GAWAYNE  (with  due  solemnity).  That  will  I  do,  and  that 
will  I  swear  to  do,  by  my  blood:  as  a  Knight  of  the  Round 
Table,  and  on  the  Four  Evangelists! 

[He  kisses  the  hand  of  the  Queen  and  is  about  to  go,  but  pauses, 
as  the  winding  notes  of  a  horn  are  heard.    All  exclaim. 

ALL  (excited).     Hark!    An  horn! 


116  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

t 

THE  LITTLE  PAGE  (excited,  at  the  window).  Madam,  it  is  the 
King  who  rides  hither  attended  by  a  knight,  their  horses  all- 
to-beswet ! 

GUINEVERE.     Arthur  .  .  .  God  be  praised ! 

SIR  GAWAYNE  (at  the  same  time).  Thanks  be  to  Heaven,  the 
King! 

THE  DAMOSEL.     My  knight,  thank  Heaven! 

[All  hasten  to  meet  the  arrivals;  meanwhile  the  harping  in  the 
banquet-hall  is  stilled,  and  the  banqueters  crowd  in,  exclaiming 
joyfully  for  the  King's  safe  return. 

SIR  KAY  (announcing  it  to  the  others).  It  is  Arthur  who  comes 
back  from  his  quest  .  .  .  and  the  knight  to  his  damo- 
sel!  Ah,  now  there  will  be  clippings  and  kissings  and  call- 
ing of  sweet  names,  I  warrant! 

[Arthur  and  Guinevere  enter,  attended  by  Sir  Gawayne  and  the 
Little  Page,  and  followed  by  the  Damosel  and  her  Knight.  Now 
ensues  a  moment  of  excited  welcome,  and  general  greeting. 
Attendants  bring  torches. 

ARTHUR  (to  Guinevere,  as  they  enter).  Ah,  my  dear  love,  it  was 
indeed  an  adventure  of  great  marvel  .  .  .  greater  hath  no 
knight  never  happed  upon,  I  dare  be  sworn! 

GUINEVERE.  And,  thanks  be  to  God,  you  came  through  it 
unscathed !  (She  places  him  tenderly  in  his  chair  of  state,  and 
looks  at  him  with  scrutiny)  Not  so !  For  here  is  blood  upon 
your  hand!  .  .  .  Haste,  now!  Let  bring  water  and  a  heal- 
ing salve!  [Giving  orders. 

ARTHUR.  It  is  not  needed!  It  is  but  a  little  scratch  of  which 
I  shall  be  hastily  whole,  by  the  will  of  God! 

GUINEVERE.     Come,  then,  relate  your  adventure!     But  you 
must  be  a-hungered  and  athirst !  .  .  .  Let  make  a  banquet  of 
royalness  as  great  as  may  be,  in  honour  of  my  lord's  return! 
[Going  toward  the  banquet-hall. 

ARTHUR  (detaining  her).     Stay!    This  is  no  time  for  feastings! 
(This  announcement  causes  a  sensation)     Bring  me  a  little 
deal  of  water,  for  my  tongue  is  parched! 
[He  drains  the  cup  which  is  brought  to  him,  while  all  look  on, 
struck  by  his  far  from  joyous  tone. 


THE  TESTING  OF  SIR  GAWAYNE 

Arthur. —  "Whereon  rushed  forth  the  most  outrageous  churl  and 
greatest  murtherer  was  ever  seen,  with  a  huge  laughter  like 
thunder,  and  spitting  flames  of  fire  from  his  monstrous  mouth !" 


The  Testing  of  Sir  Gawayne  117 

SIR  BLEOBEBIS  (to  Sir  Bors).  What  ails  the  King?  Think 
you  he  has  been  mischieved  in  some  sort? 

SIR  BORS.  Truly  his  countenance  is  heavy  as  did  he  see  him- 
self like  to  be  soonly  in  checkmate! 

ARTHUR  (refreshed  by  the  draught).  Ah!  Later  will  I  have 
meat  and  wine.  But  first  must  I  lay  bare  my  breast,  mak- 
ing clean  avowals!  My  lords  and  ladies,  gentlemen  and 
gentlewomen,  you  see  here  before  you  Arthur,  King  of  Britain, 
having  under  my  obeisance  Wales,  Ireland  and  Scotland,  by 
the  grace  of  God,  and  many  other  realms,  also  head  of  the  wor- 
shipful fellowship  of  the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table.  And 
.  .  .  (he  pauses,  impressively)  by  the  sinful  crafts  of  the 
devil,  a  prisoner  on  parole;  under  pain  of  forfeiture  of  my 
lands,  my  life,  my  Queen! 
[This,  as  well  may  be  imagined,  causes  a  profound  sensation. 

SEVERAL  KNIGHTS  AND  LADIES.     My  lord,  what  say  you! 

OTHER  KNIGHTS  AND  LADIES.     Sir!     What  words  be  these! 

GUINEVERE.     My  lord  .  .  .  Arthur! 

SEVERAL  VOICES.  The  Queen!  Look  to  the  Queen!  .  .  .  Oh, 
almost  she  fell  down  in  a  swound! 

GUINEVERE  (recovering  herself) .  It  is  naught.  .  .  .  My  lord,  I 
pray  you  that  you  will  expound  your  fearsome  rede! 

ARTHUR.  That  will  I  do!  ...  Let  all  be  seated.  (All  obey 
the  King,  whereupon  Arthur  explains)  How  I  took  oath  on 
my  head  as  anointed  king  not  to  set  me  down  to  meat  on 
All-Hallowmass  or  I  had  undertaken  some  haut  quest  already 
do  ye  know.  (All  assent)  Also  know  ye  how  this  damosel 
came  riding  hither  into  this  hall,  seeking  succour  for  her 
knight!  (Again  all  assent)  And  none  is  there  that  knows 
not  how  forthwith  I  enterprised  the  matter!  (Again  all 
assent)  Now  hear  ye  how  I  fared  with  it!  (All  settle  them- 
selves like  children  to  whom  a  thrilling  tale  is  to  be  told)  Ar- 
rived afore  the  grimly  tower  I  blew  my  horn  and  cried, 
"How  now,  Sir  Knight,  an  ye  be  a  fair  fighter,  come,  prove 
it,  spear  to  spear,  and  sword  to  sword,  and  body  to  body!" 
Whereon  rushed  forth  the  most  outrageous  churl  and  great- 
est murtherer  was  ever  seen,  with  a  huge  laughter  like 


118  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

thunder,  and  spitting  flames  of  fire  from  his  monstrous 
mouth !  And  by  sorcery  he  cast  an  evil  spell  on  me,  so  that 
its  scabbard  would  not  loose  my  sword  Excalibur,  and  my 
arm  fell  helpless  to  my  side  like  as  it  had  been  the  arm  of 
a  dead  corp!  (The  Ladies  and  the  younger  Pages  shudder 
audibly)  "How,  now,  King  Arthur,"  cried  the  rude  churl, 
"I  have  you  at  a  vantage,  so  best  yield  yourself  without 
ado!"  "Now  not  ever,  nor  never  on  my  head,"  I  answered 
him,  "for  I  had  leaver  to  be  hacked  to  bits  than  cry  mercy 
of  such  a  fiendly  knight  that  it  is  no  true  knight  at  all!" 
(General  exclamations  of  approval  greet  this,  many  crying,  "Oh, 
well  said!"  .  .  .  "Spoken  in  kinglywise!"  etc.)  "Then," 
said  he,  "you  leese,  not  alone  your  life  the  which  you  seem 
to  hold  so  light,  but  also  your  realms,  and  your  Queen!" 
(Again  there  is  a  shuddering  sensation)  Well,  for  to  curtail 
a  long  tale  short,  "Come,"  said  he,  "I  will  release  the  knight 
the  which  to  deliver  you  came,  and  suffer  you  to  depart  as 
you  came  upon  certain  conditions!"  "Name  them,"  said  I. 
"That  you  shall  promise  by  the  Holy  Rood  that  you  will 
not  set  you  down  to  meat  on  All-Hallowmass  until  you 
shall  have  brought  me  the  answer  to  a  rede  that  I  shall  now 
propound  to  you!"  "I  assent  to  these,"  I  said! 
[All  breathe  a  long  sigh  of  relief,  with  exclamations  of  thankful- 
ness that  all  has  turned  out  so  well. 

GUINEVERE.  Now,  scarce  can  I  wait  to  go  to  the  Minster  to 
do  my  thankings  to  God  for  such  deliverance!  .  .  .  But  the 
rede,  my  lord!  The  rede! 

ALL.     Aye,  sir,  the  rede! 

ARTHUR.  Well  may  you  ask!  "What  is  it  that  all  women 
most  desire?" 

ALL  (repeat,  as  it  were  a  lesson).  "What  is  it  that  all  women 
most  desire?" 

GUINEVERE.  "What  is  it  that  all  women  most  desire?"  Oh, 
my  dear  love,  as  if  there  could  be  but  one  answer  to  that! 
All  women  most  desire  what  I,  most  fortunate  of  women, 
have:  A  loving  husband  which  is  also  a  true  and  faithful 
knight  of  worship  and  renown!  (Many  of  those  present  con- 


The  Testing  of  Sir  Gawayne  119 

cur  in  this,  saying,  "In  sooth  the  Queen  speaks  for  all!"  and, 
"Now,  could  there  be  two  minds  about  that!"  and,  "Gram- 
ercy,  so  also  say  I!"  Others,  however,  differ,  murmuring,  "I 
doubt  that  is  right!"  and,  "What  is  truth  for  one  may  not 
be  truth  for  other!"  and  ihe  like.  Guinevere  notices  this  and 
exclaims,  saying)  How  now!  It  seems  we  are  not  all  of  one 
opinion ! 

DAME  LAUREL.  Madam,  is  it  permitted  that  we  may  speak 
freely,  each  the  thought  in  mind? 

GUINEVERE.  In  sooth,  Dame  Laurel,  I  ordain  and  command 
that  ye  do  so,  for  so  only  shall  we  arrive  at  true  con- 
clusions! 

DAME  LAUREL.  Then,  above  the  desire  of  a  woman  for  a  lov- 
ing husband  and  worshipful  knight  do  I  set  the  desire  of  all 
women  to  be  beautiful!  (There  is  a  murmur  of  assent  from 
many.  The  Dame  continues)  For  in  the  end  beauty  wins 
the  husband,  and  so,  possessing  one,  shall  the  woman  be 
ensured  of  both! 
[This  provokes  a  general  laugh. 

GUINEVERE.  Many  minds,  many  counsels,  it  would  seem! 
Let  now  a  clerkly  scribe  set  down  in  writing  these  divers 
answers  to  our  quest,  to  the  end  that  my  lord  may  take 
his  choice  of  them!  (A  Scribe  prepares  to  write.  Meanwhile, 
at  a  sign  from  Sir  Kay,  a  Servant  brings  food  and  wine  to  the 
King  who  sits  and  partakes  of  this.  Guinevere  continues  her 
quest)  Our  knights  have  not  spoken!  Sir  Bors,  what,  say 
you,  do  all  women  most  desire? 

SIR  BORS.  Madam,  I  know  not  what  all  women  do  most  de- 
sire, but  I  do  know  what  all  women  should  most  desire! 
(There  is  an  expectant  hush,  as  he  pauses  impressively)  To 
be  pleasing  in  the  eyes  of  their  lords ! 

[This  provokes  laughter,  though  some  gentlemen  seem  to  agree 
with  the  speaker. 

DAME  LAUREL.     Our  thanks  to  you,  Sir  Bors! 

GUINEVERE.     And  what  says  Sir  Bleoberis? 

SIR  BLEOBERIS.  To  be  richly  beseen,  madam;  to  be  arrayed 
with  the  goodliest  guise,  in  silk  attire,  with  precious  stones, 


120  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

perfumes  of  sweet  savour,  and  gold  and  silver,  great  plenty, 

for  to  spend! 

[This  is  received  with  amusement  and  protest  from  the  Ladies. 

SIR  KAY  (nods  assent).  Ye  say  well!  (To  Sir  Bleoberis)  And 
add  to  these  things,  good  cheer;  meat,  and  spiced  drinkings, 
and  sweet  eatings  out  of  measure! 

[More  mirth,  and  renewed  protests.  Cries  of  "Fie  on  you, 
Sir  Kay!  For  shame  for  an  ungentle  knight,  Sir  Kay!  Oh, 
knight  of  the  discourteous  tongue,  Sir  Kay!"  etc. 

GUINEVERE.  Meseemeth  our  faithful  Seneschal  hath  a  grutch 
against  all  ladies!  .  .  .  How  sayeth  Sir  Meliogrance? 

SIR  MELIOGRANCE.  Madam,  I  hold  that  all  women  in  their 
hearts  crave  flattery,  fair  words  and  sooth,  on  the  tongue  of 
men!  (This  also  provokes  mirth,  and  some  protest,  whereupon 
the  Knight  turns  on  the  Ladies')  Aye,  and  is  there  one  among 
you  will  dare  gainsay  me? 

GUINEVERE.     Now  we  know  wherefore  the  shield  of  Sir  Melio- 
grance is  always  kept  so  bright,  sithence  he  pays  for  gentle 
service  with  fair  words  and  sooth!    Has  any  one  withheld 
counsel? 
[Looks  about  the  group. 

SEVERAL  LADIES.     Sir  Gawayne!    Sir  Gawayne  has  not  spoken! 

SIR  GAWAYNE.  Now  by  the  faith  of  my  body  should  I  be 
acquitted  of  answer!  (This  is  greeted  with  cries  of,  "And 
wherefore,  Sir  Knight?"  on  which  Sir  Gawayne  explains,  ad- 
dressing himself  to  the  Queen)  Madam,  by  your  own  ordi- 
nance was  not  a  quest  of  these  ladies  set  upon  me,  for  my 
dolourous  mishap  whereby  I  slew  a  lady,  smiting  off  her 
head?  .  .  .  And  by  their  judgment  am  not  I  upon  covenant 
to  be  courteous  to  all  ladies  and  to  fight  for  their  quarrels 
while  ever  I  shall  live? 

[This  is  received  with  some  amusement  and  with  general  assent 
to  the  justice  of  the  plea. 

GUINEVERE.  So  then,  my  good  lord!  (She  takes  the  parch- 
ment from  the  Scribe  and  hands  this  to  the  King)  Seal  with 
your  signet  and  let  send  to  the  churlish  knight  these  true 
answers  to  his  quest! 


The  Testing  of  Sir  Gawayne 

ARTHUR.  Alas,  good  dame!  All  these  answers  and  more  did 
I  make  incontinent,  out  of  my  own  wit  and  with  such  simple 
cunning  as  it  hath  pleased  Heaven  to  grant  me.  But  .  .  . 
[He  sighs. 

GUINEVERE  (with  anxiety).    But!    Aye,  my  good  lord;  but? 

ARTHUR.  Labour  lost  and  in  vain!  (All  exclaim,  amazed) 
For  all  my  pains,  the  outrageous  wight  put  great  rebukes 
and  mockage  on  me,  and  made  sport  at  me,  and  miscalled 
me  fool!  (This  'produces  a  profound  sensation)  And,  an  I 
bring  him  the  true  rede  or  ever  I  set  me  down  to  meat  upon 
All-Hallowmass,  my  life  is  forfeit  to  him,  and  my  lands,  and 
fairest  flower  of  my  garland,  my  Queen! 
[Sighs,  and  exclamations  of  sorrow  are  heard  on  all  sides. 

THE  DAMOSEL'S  KNIGHT  (weeping).  Alas,  alas,  that  ever  such 
a  captive  knight  as  I  should  have  power  by  misadventure  to 
bring  sorrow  upon  the  greatest  king  and  most  champion  of 
all  the  world! 

SIR  BLEOBERIS  (starting  up).  Shall  our  worshipful  fellowship 
be  shamed  to  the  world's  end  by  a  churlish  Saracen  that  is 
an  outrageous  giant  and  no  true  knight?  Let  us  gather  a 
great  host,  well  furnished  and  garnished  of  all  manner  of 
things  that  belong  to  the  war,  and  let  us  do  battle  against 
him! 
[This  suggestion  is  greeted  with  general  acclaim. 

SIR  BORS.  Oh,  well  said !  And  as  Sir  Bleoberis  has  devised  so 
let  it  be  done! 

SIR  MELIOGRANCE.  Aye,  sir!  (To  Arthur)  In  the  name  of 
our  goodly  fellowship  let  dress  forthwith  to  the  adventure! 

THE  LITTLE  PAGE  (casting  himself  at  Arthur's  feet).  Oh,  sir,  for 
the  love  of  Heaven  I  pray  you  give  me  the  order  of  knight- 
hood that  I  too  may  joust  upon  this  quest! 

ARTHUR.  A  beardless  boy,  thou  art  full  young  and  tender  of 
age,  methinketh,  for  to  take  so  high  an  order  upon  thee! 

THE  LITTLE  PAGE.  Sir,  I  beseech  you!  For  leaver  would  I 
be  cut  into  an  hundred  pieces  than  that  my  Queen  should 
be  devoured  by  an  horrible  giant! 

ARTHUR.     Gramercy,  it  were  pity  to  deny  thee,  for  thou  wilt 


A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

be  a  passing  good  man  and  fearless  knight  when  thou  comest 
to  age!  (He  draws  his  sword,  and  touches  the  lad's  shoulders 
with  the  flat  of  it,  saying)  In  the  name  of  high  errantry, 
receive  now  the  knighthood  accolade!  (Then  he  raises  the 
new  Knight  to  his  feet,  and  kisses  him  on  both  cheeks,  saying) 
Rise  up,  Sir  Griflet!  See  to  it  that  ye  wear  your  new  hon- 
ours ever  as  beseems  a  chivalrous  knight  and  honest  gentle- 
man! And  God's  blessing  be  on  ye!  (Sir  Griflet  bows  low, 
and  returns  to  his  place  with  becoming  dignity,  drawing  him- 
self up  with  great  hauteur  as  he  passes  his  fellow-Page  who  be- 
fore had  mocked  at  him.  Arthur  now  looks  about  the  group) 
Gramercy,  there  never  was  no  king  that  had  so  noble  knights 
and  valiant  as  have  I!  But  this  is  no  matter  for  deeds  of 
arms!  For  did  I  not  carry  my  sword  Excalibur,  the  which 
is  the  sharpest  and  marvelest  that  was  ever  in  any  knight's 
hand!  It  is  only  by  miracle  that  we  can  be  delivered  from 
the  subtle  crafts  of  enchantment,  and  discover  the  true  rede 
to  the  outrageous  monster's  quest :  What  is  it  that  all  women 
most  desire? 
[A  great  sigh  goes  up  as  all  realise  the  truth  of  this. 

GUINEVERE  (takes  a  decision).  Now  for  the  night  let  this  quest 
overpass!  Aye,  my  lords  .  .  .  (Addressing  the  Knights  who 
seem  to  demur)  For  this  night  let  us  leave  of  this  dolourous 
matter!  This  night  we  will  take  our  rest,  and  to-morrow 
betimes  we  will  send  messengers  north  and  south  and  east 
and  west,  seeking  good  counsel !  Come,  avoid !  Avoid !  To 
your  chambers,  all!  And  who  knows  but  in  a  marvelous 
dream  shall  be  expounded  to  us,  What  is  it  that  all  women 
most  desire? 

[Taking  Arthur  by  the  hand  she  leads  him  out.  All  follow, 
repeating  in  some  sort  the  question,  "What  is  it  ...  Gram- 
ercy, now  what  is  it  that  all  women  do  most  desire?"  Sir 
Kay  and  the  Servants  remain,  the  former  giving  directions  for 
barring  doors,  extinguishing  torches,  and  the  like. 

SIR  KAY.  Bar  well  the  door!  (To  one  Servant)  For,  sooth, 
this  is  the  eve  of  All-Hallowmass,  when  all  manner  of  strange 
visitants  may  be  abroad!  .  .  .  How  now,  ye  lazy  lusks! 


The  Testing  of  Sir  Gawayne  123 

(To  other  Servants  who  are  stealthily  gobbling  up  the  leavings 
of  the  King's  repast)  Back  to  your  kitching,  ye  turners  of 
broaches  and  washers  of  dishes!  In  the  divil's  name  shall 
ye  wax  fat  as  a  porke  hog  on  good  browesse,  purveyance  for 
a  king!  Back  to  your  kitching,  knaves!  (In  consternation 
the  Servants  make  their  escape,  by  way  of  the  banqueting-hall. 
Alone,  Sir  Kay  looks  about  to  see  that  all  is  in  order,  kicks  a 
forward  log  into  place  upon  the  hearth,  then  stands  beside  the 
chimney,  lost  in  thought.  Speaks  as  if  thinking  aloud)  What 
is  it  that  all  women  do  most  desire?  By  my  head  I  know 
not,  and  so  to  bed.  (He  is  about  to  go,  when  there  is  a  knock 
at  the  door,  at  first  timid  and  hesitating,  then  gaining  strength. 
The  Knight  starts)  Now  who  may  that  be? 
[A  Shadow  now  crosses  the  moonlight  that  streams  in  through 
the  window,  and  a  voice  is  heard. 

THE  VOICE.  Unshut  the  door!  For  the  love  of  Heaven,  good 
Seneschal,  unshut  the  door! 

SIR  KAY.     By  the  faith  of  my  body,  'tis  a  woman! 

THE  VOICE.  Gentle  Knight  Seneschal,  of  your  charity,  unshut 
the  door! 

SIR  KAY.     Not  I!    For  it  was  a  gentlewoman  and  no  knight 
that  led  Adam  into  deadly  sin,  and  well  I  wot  it  is  the  foul 
fiend  himself  hath  sent  ye  hither  for  to  shame  me  in  my 
stewardship!    Aroint  thee!     Aroint  thee! 
[He  makes  the  sign  of  a  cross  in  the  air. 

THE  VOICE.     Alas! 

[The  Shadow  disappears. 

SIR  KAY.  Ha!  No  fiend  in  the  guise  of  a  gentlewoman  shall 
so  mischieve  me! 

[He  lays  himself  down  on  a  bench  and  sleeps.     Enter  Sir 
Gawayne,  musing,  shield  in  one  hand,  in  the  other  a  cloth. 

SIR  GAWAYNE.  What  is  it  that  all  women  do  most  desire  ?  Now 
by  my  knighthood  it  would  seem  a  simple  quest,  yet  it  hath 
set  the  whole  Court  by  the  ears,  and  put  the  kingdom  in 
jeopard  .  .  .  and  the  Queen! 

[He  sits  near  the  window  and  polishes  his  shield.     Guinevere 
enters  in  sad  meditation. 


A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

GUINEVERE.  What  is  it  all  women  do  most  desire?  Fair 
Heaven,  here  am  I  a  woman,  with  all  I  love  in  hazard  for 
the  answer,  yet  I  know  it  not!  (She  sees  Sir  Gawayne  in  the 
shadow,  and  starts,  exclaiming,  then  recognises  him,  reassured) 
Sir  Gawayne! 

SIR  GAWAYNE  (rising).  Madam!  Doth  aught  ail  you  or  the 
King? 

GUINEVERE.  Finding  my  lord  restless  and  almost  out  of  his 
mind,  I  gave  him  a  potion  of  simples  by  which  he  fell  on 
sleep !  But  I  ...  I  cannot  rest  for  sorrow,  when,  or  ever  the 
morrow  is  overpassed,  we  may  all  be  chased  from  our  lands 
and  made  to  yield  to  a  great  mighty  and  outrageous  giant! 

SIR  GAWAYNE  (polishing  vigourously) .  It  shall  go  hard  with  the 
knavish  churl  or  ever  he  carries  out  his  foul  intent,  I  warrant 
you,  madam! 

GUINEVERE.  Ah,  dear  nephew,  if  it  were  a  matter  of  prowess, 
then  should  we  be  making  great  joy  and  feasting!  But  how- 
can  fair  chivalry  prevail  against  the  wicked  crafts  of  sorcery? 
[Again  the  knock  at  the  door  is  heard.  Both  start  and  exclaim. 
The  Shadow  appears  again  at  the  window. 

THE  VOICE.  Who  dwell  herein,  I  pray  you  of  your  charity 
unshut  the  door! 

GUINEVERE.     A  woman!    Seeking  shelter! 

SIR  KAY  (waking,  and  realising  the  state  of  affairs).  Madam,  I 
pray  you,  withhold,  for  well  am  I  sure  it  is  no  woman! 

THE  VOICE.  For  the  love  of  Heaven  I  pray  you  give  me  enter- 
tainment here! 

GUINEVERE.     A  very  gentlewoman!    A  well-languaged  lady! 

SIR  KAY.     An  enchanter  and  multiplier  of  subtile  words! 

SIR  GAWAYNE  (looking  at  the  reflection  in  his  shield).  Oh,  but 
young  and  passing  fair! 

SIR  KAY  (in  desperation).  A  serpent!  The  divil  in  woman's 
semblance ! 

GUINEVERE.  Now  in  truth,  Sir  Kay,  you  are  the  shamefulest 
knight  of  your  tongue  that  now  is  living  in  the  world,  and 
an  ye  do  not  yourself  unshut  the  door  to  this  poor  wight  then 
will  I  myself! 


The  Testing  of  Sir  Gawayne  125 

SIR  KAY.  On  your  own  head  be  it,  then!  .  .  .  (Strides  to  the 
door  and  throws  it  wide)  Who  stands  without,  enter,  by  ordi- 
nance of  the  Queen !  And  under  protest  from  the  Seneschal ! 
(All  watch  with  interest,  Sir  Kay  crossing  himself,  as  the 
Stranger  enters,  showing  herself  to  be  a  woman,  bent  and  hob- 
bling, close-muffled  in  scarlet  cloak  and  hood.  Sir  Gawayne 
starts,  realising  that  appearances  have  deceived  him.  Sir  Kay 
mutters,  mimicking  the  other)  0  passing  young  and  peerless 
fair! 
[All  hang  back,  slightly  fearful,  scrutinising  the  Stranger. 

GUINEVERE  (to  Sir  Kay).  This  is  no  beggar  asking  alms!  I 
charge  you,  Sir  Kay,  speak  fair  to  her,  and  ask  her  who  she 
may  be,  whence  come,  and  on  what  errand? 

SIR  KAY.  Pray,  fair  damosel,  of  what  kin  come  ye,  and  by 
what  name  may  we  know  ye,  and  wherefore  do  you  honour 
our  poor  Court  with  your  gracious  presence? 

THE  STRANGER.  Sir  Kay,  ye  shall  hold  me  excused,  for  not  to 
you  will  I  discover  my  blood,  my  name,  and  wherefore  I 
am  come! 

GUINEVERE.  Gawayne,  do  you  greet  her  and  question  her  in 
seemly  sort! 

SIR  GAWAYNE.  Lady,  I  pray  you  tell  us,  who  may  ye  be,  and 
whence,  and  on  what  cause  hither  come? 

THE  STRANGER.  Full  fain  will  I  answer  you,  Sir  Gawayne! 
I  come  of  a  strange  country,  and  I  am  hight  Deliverance  La 
Belle  Pilgrim,  and  I  bring  you  a  great  reward  because  you 
knew  me  to  be  young  and  passing  fair! 

SIR  KAY  (laughs,  scoffing) .  Deliverance  La  Belle  Pilgrim ! 
Now  on  my  head  .  .  . 

GUINEVERE.  Peace,  Sir  Kay!  A  truce  to  your  mockage  and 
scornings!  .  .  .  'Tis  but  a  poor  daffish  witless  wight!  (She 
advances  hospitably)  Whoever  ye  be,  ye  are  right  heartily 
welcome!  Give  place,  Gawayne,  the  hearth  hereby!  And 
you,  gentle  Knight  Seneschal,  let  bring  refreshing  of  good 
meats  and  drinks! 

SIR  KAY.  Now  on  my  head,  let  beggars  find  sustenance  in  the 
kitching,  nor  seek  to  fare  with  great  pride  and  bobbance  among 


126          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

their   betters!  ...  Or   let   Sir   Gawayne   serve  his    lovely 

damosel! 
SIR  GAWAYNE.     Beware  what  them  sayest  in  disworship  of  me, 

or  ... 

SIR  KAY.     What,  are  ye  not  upon  covenant  sworn  never  to  re- 
fuse courtesy  to  lady  or  gentlewoman? 
SIR  GAWAYNE.     Now  sith  ye  have  such  despite  of  me  I  require 

ye  to  joust  with  me! 
SIR  KAY.     Oh,  an  ye  seek  an  adventure  you  will  find  me  soonly 

ready! 
GUINEVERE.     Fie  upon  you  both!     Sir  Kay,  for  the  love  of 

Heaven  and  the  high  order  of  knighthood  forbear !     Gawayne, 

hold  thee  still  and  say  nothing! 
SIR  GAWAYNE.     But,  madam,  an  I  revenge  my  fellow  he  will 

say  dishonour  of  me! 
SIR  KAY.      I  never  was  proved  coward  of  none  earthly  knight 

in  all  my  life! 
GUINEVERE.     I  beseech  of  you  both,  in  the  peril  in  which  we 

now  stand,  to  be  friends! 
SIR  KAY  (reluctantly  yielding}.     I  will  hold  you  excused! 

[To  the  other  Knight. 
SIR   GAWAYNE    (equally    reluctant).      All   is   pardoned   on  my 

part! 
SIR  KAY  (with  gruff  friendliness ,  laughs).     The  lion  is  of  a  more 

gentler  nature  than  his  roaring  would  beseem! 
SIR  GAWAYNE.     In  my  heart  I  thought  not  amiss  against  ye! 
THE  STRANGER  (to  the  Queen).     Madam,  I  thank  you  of  your 

great  goodness  to  me!     In  recompensation  I  may  do  you 

some  service!    I  need  not  meat  nor  drink.     My  errand  is 

with  the  King!     I  crave  speech  with  the  King! 
GUINEVERE  (surprised).     With  the  King? 
SIR  KAY  (whispers,  to  the  Queen).      'Ware,  now!     'tis  the  eve 

of  All-Hallowmass ! 
GUINEVERE.     Speech  with  the  King!     Good  dame,  this  would 

be  a  simple  asking,  but  my  lord  is  now  on  sleep!      Because 

he  was  restless  and  full  of  heaviness  I  gave  him  a  potion,  so 

that  he  will  not  awake  till  dawning !    Not  within  three  hours ! 


The  Testing  of  Sir  Gawayne  127 

THE  STRANGER.     Arthur  wakens  .  .  .  anon  he  comes  this  way! 

SIR  KAY.     Mark  well  my  words,  a  sorcerous  witch! 

[At  this  moment  Arthur  enters  slowly,  as  if  in  a  trance.     All 
exclaim. 

GUINEVERE  (goes  to  the  King).  Dear  love,  I  left  ye  soundly 
sleeping! 

ARTHUR  (waking  fully,  with  a  start).  Guinevere!  I  had  a  mar- 
vellous vision,  but  it  lacks  interpretation!  I  dreamed  one 
came  knocking  on  this  door  ...  a  damosel  passing  young 
and  of  peerless  loveliness  who  called  herself  Deliverance  La 
Belle  Pilgrim  .  .  .  (He  breaks  off  with  a  start  and  an  ex- 
clamation, seeing  the  Stranger,  saying)  By  the  faith  of  my 
body,  'tis  the  loathly  lady! 

THE  STRANGER.     God  keep  ye,  Arthur! 

ARTHUR.  God  keep  ye,  dame!  (To  the  others  he  explains  in 
an  undertone)  'Tis  a  witless  wight  that  I  encountered  in  the 
forest,  saying  her  prayers  between  an  oak  and  an  holly  tree! 

THE  STRANGER.  Because  of  your  bounty  ye  gave  me  alms  and 
proffered  me  aid  when  I  called  after  ye  as  I  sat  between  oak 
and  holly  tree,  I  am  come  to  do  ye  a  service,  so  that  ye  shall 
be  glad  that  ye  ever  showed  me  goodness !  .  .  .  I  would  have 
speech  with  ye  in  privity! 
[The  others  seem  about  to  protest  against  this. 

ARTHUR.  What  some  ver  ye  would  say,  may  not  this  be  said 
in  open  audience? 

THE  STRANGER  (shakes  her  head).  So  would  it  lose  its  helping 
virtue ! 

ARTHUR  (to  the  others).  Then,  avoid,  a  little  while!  I  pray 
you  all,  avoid!  (To  the  Queen)  Fear  naught,  dear  love! 
An  aged  woman  of  an  hundred  winters,  who  knows  but  she 
may  expound  my  vision,  and  discover  to  me  what  all  women 
do  most  desire! 
[Sir  Gawayne  gives  his  hand  to  Guinevere  and  leads  her  away. 

SIR  KAY  (following,  grumbling).  The  original  serpent!  The 
divil  himself! 

THE  STRANGER.  Sir,  the  signification  of  your  dream  is  this: 
the  dragon  betokeneth  the  giant,  being  right  horrible  and 


128  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

abominable,  whose  peer  for  outrageousness  ye  never  saw  in 
all  your  days,  and  before  the  dawning  will  he  come  knock- 
ing on  your  doors  to  claim  his  forfeit,  and  unless  ye  make 
conditions  with  me  for  the  true  answer  to  his  rede  .  .  . 
[At  this  juncture  a  terrible  roaring  is  heard  without,  also  re- 
sounding  blows  on  the  door.  The  Queen  and  the  two  Knights 
come  in  running,  crying,  "The  Giant!  The  Giant!" 

GUINEVERE  (at  the  window).  Oh,  an  outrageous  churl  seven 
times  the  height  of  mortal  man,  and  spitting  flames  of  fire 
from  his  monstrous  mouth! 

sm  KAY  (running  about,  shouting).  Awake!  Awake!  Ho, 
there,  and  here,  awake !  Lazy  lusks,  ye  ought  to  be  ashamed 
so  to  sleep  when  knights  have  ado  in  the  field! 

SIR  GAWAYNE  (also  calling).  Awake,  all  men  of  arms!  Ho, 
to  the  defence! 

[Great  confusion  prevails.  People  come  running  from  all 
sides;  meanwhile  the  loud  knocking  and  shouting  is  heard  at 
intervals. 

THE  STRANGER.  In  vain!  Arms  profit  ye  naught!  He  has  ye 
at  a  vantage! 

THE  GIANT  (outside).  How  now,  King  Arthur!  What  is  it 
that  all  women  do  most  desire? 

ARTHUR.  0  help  me,  Heaven!  What  is  it  that  all  women  do 
most  desire? 

THE  STRANGER.    That  well  can  I  tell  to  ye! 

ARTHUR  (turning  to  her).  How  now,  dame?  Beware  what 
thou  sayest,  for  thou  speakest  a  great  word! 

THE  STRANGER.  Sir,  if  God  give  me  grace  that  I  may  speed 
you  well,  delivering  you  from  this  peril,  in  recompensation 
will  ye  give  me  a  reward  that  I  will  ask  of  ye? 

ARTHUR.  Certainly,  so  that  it  be  not  unreasonably  asked,  and 
may  be  honourably  granted.  .  .  . 

THE  STRANGER.     That  is  well  said! 

ARTHUR.     Speak,  then.     Name  your  petition! 

THE  STRANGER.     I  will  ask  my  gift  when  I  see  my  time! 

ARTHUR.  Now,  by  my  faith,  but  this  is  emprising  an  adven- 
ture in  the  dark! 


The  Testing  of  Sir  Gawayne  129 

THE  GIANT  (without).    Arthur,  for  the  second  time  of  asking, 

what  is  it  that  all  women  do  most  desire? 

[This  produces  great  general  consternation. 
THE  STRANGER.     Arthur,  for  the  second  time  of  asking  will  ye 

entreat  with  me? 
GUINEVERE.      Oh,  my  dear  lord,  for  the  love  of  Heaven,  what- 

somever  boon  the  dame  seeketh,  that  grant  to  her,  for  there 

is  none  other  remedy  in  the  peril  we  are  in! 

[The  Giant  knocks  louder  than  ever. 
SIR  GRIFLET  (runs  forward  with  sword  and  shield).     How,  now, 

varlet!     (To  his  former  fellow-Page)     Attend  me!    Ho,  now! 

On  to  the  assay! 

[The  doughty  Child  is  restrained  by  a  fat  Gentlewoman. 
THE  STRANGER.     Fools,  fools!     Your  pains  and  preparations 

are  vain,  for  the  deed  shall  never  be  achieved  but  by  me! 
GUINEVERE  (again  beseeching  the  King  who  still  demurs).     Dear 

love,  bethink  you  of  all  that  is  in  jeopard:   your  kingdom, 

your  life,  and  me,  your  Queen! 
ARTHUR  (considering  the  Stranger).     Now,  my  heart  giveth  me 

to  thee  greatly  that  thou  art  come  on  a  good  errand,  and 

greatly  my  conceit  faileth  me  but  thou  shalt  prove  our  true 

deliverance!    Therefore  .  .  . 
THE  STRANGER.    Ye  will  grant  my  boon?    Upon  covenant 

.  .  .  Sworn  upon  a  book? 
ARTHUR.    By  the  faith  of  my  body  and  the  Holy  Rood! 

THE  STRANGER.      Then   .    .    . 

[Going  to  Arthur  she  whispers  in  his  ear. 

THE  GIANT  (without).    Arthur,  for  the  third  time  of  asking    .  .  . 

ARTHUR  (breaking  into  immoderate  mirth,  on  hearing  the  Stran- 
ger9 s  whispered  communication).  Oh,  ho,  ho!  Let  blow!  Let 
blow!  (While  speaking  he  hastens  to  the  window,  the  while 
horns  are  blown  and  great  excitement  prevails)  Hark  ye,  var- 
let! Learn  now  from  Arthur  the  true  answer  to  your  rede: 
What  is  it  that  all  women  do  most  desire?  (There  is  an 
expectant  hush,  as  the  King  pauses  before  announcing)  Their 
own  sweet  will,  that  they  may  do  in  all  things  as  they  list! 
[Immoderate  laughter  seizes  the  assemblage,  and  all  repeat. 


130  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

ALL  (stamping  about  and  slapping  knees,  etc).  Oh,  aye!  All 
women  do  most  desire  their  own  sweet  will,  that  they  may 
do  in  all  things  as  they  list! 

THE  GIANT  (without,  unable  to  believe  his  ears).  Eh?  Eh? 
What  word  do  I  hear? 

ALL  (shouting  in  concert  and  carefully  syllabling).  All  women 
most  desire  their  own  sweet  will  that  they  may  do  in  all 
things  as  they  list! 

[At  this  the  Giant  utters  a  mighty  roar  of  wrath  and  frustra- 
tion, and  falls  to  the  ground  with  a  tremendous  thud;  lies  there 
groaning,  and  oltviously  writhing,  a  short  space;  then  with  one 
final  yell  gives  up  the  ghost,  all,  meantime,  mocking  and  with 
ejaculations  recording  the  phases  of  his  passing:  "Aha,  now! 
How  like  you  that!  .  .  .  Mark  how  he  flames  and  smokes 
with  wrath!  .  .  .  Oh,  what  a  fall!  Almost  he  brings  down 
the  castle!  .  .  .  Hear  him  groan!  .  .  .  Ah,  fellow;  that 
wraths  you  finely!  .  .  .  Now  he  dies!  He  dies!  He  gives 
up  the  ghost!"  [They  all  dance  about,  exulting. 

GUINEVERE  (falling  on  Arthur's  neck).  Saved!  Now  am  I 
more  gladder  than  I  ever  was!  Oh,  my  dear  love!  Merci- 
fully saved! 

ARTHUR  (embracing  her).  Aye,  saved  indeed,  give  landings  and 
praisings  unto  God,  and  His  messenger,  La  Belle  Pilgrim 
Deliverance ! 

GUINEVERE.  Aye,  soothly!  And  now  let  us  put  aside  all  sor- 
rowful thoughts  and  speak  of  rejoicing!  .  .  .  Sir  Kay,  good 
Knight  Seneschal,  let  make  a  great  feast!  Let  there  be 
harping  and  minstrelsy!  .  .  .  Let  ceremony  be  overpassed, 
and  all  make  good  cheer! 

ALL  (excited).    Aye;  a  feast!    A  feast! 

[Harpings  and  song  are  heard  in  the  banqueting-hall,  and  in 
joyous  confusion  the  Lords  and  Ladies  repair  thither. 

ARTHUR  (offering  his  hand  to  the  Stranger).     Lady! 

THE  STRANGER.  First,  Sir  King,  as  I  have  done  well  by  ye 
and  holpen  ye  out  of  the  peril  in  which  ye  stood,  I  require 
of  ye  my  reward! 

ARTHUR.     Require  or  desire  of  me  anything,  dame!     I  wot  not 


The  Testing  of  Sir  Gawayne  131 

what  your  will  is,  but  howbeit  I  promised  ye  largely,  what- 
somever  ye  demand  ye  shall  have  it  without  any  fail! 

THE  STRANGER.  Then  do  I  ask  a  noble  knight  and  full  of  prow- 
ess to  take  and  wed  me  unto  his  wife! 

ARTHUR  AND  GUINEVERE  (start,  amazed).  Good  dame!  What 
words  are  these? 

ARTHUR.     Ye  ask  a  Knight  for  husband!    Now,  on  my  head 


GUINEVERE.  A  damosel  of  an  hundred  years  of  age,  would  ye 
not  do  better  to  let  make  yourself  a  nun,  and  wear  white 
clothes  and  black,  and  end  your  days  in  alms'  deeds  and 
prayers  and  fastings  in  an  abbey? 

THE  STRANGER.  I  require  upon  covenant  that  ye  grant  my 
will! 

ARTHUR.  Aye,  dame;  what  the  King  hath  promised  on  his 
avows  shall  not  be  gainsayed!  .  .  .  Ho,  Sir  Knights:  Sir 
Kay,  Sir  Bors  and  Sir  Bleoberis,  Sir  Gawayne  and  Sir  Melio- 
grance,  and  all  the  worshipful  company!  (The  Knights  come 
hastening  from  the  banqueting -hall,  the  Ladies  also)  Which  of 
ye  will  emprise  an  adventure  of  passing  peril?  (The  Knights 
press  forward  eagerly,  saying:  "I,  Sir  King!  .  .  .  Sir,  I  am 
your  fellow!  .  .  .  Oh,  my  liege,  choose  me!  .  .  .  Nay,  then; 
me!*'  The  King,  however,  finds  it  hard  to  break  the  news) 
It  is  required  of  us  upon  covenant,  in  recompensation  for  our 
deliverance  that  one  of  ye  ...  Oh,  how  can  I  say  the  word! 
.  .  .  that  one  of  ye  shall  take  and  wed  this  dame  unto  his 
wife!  [A  horrified  exclamation  goes  up  from  the  Knights  on  this, 
while  the  Ladies  seem  inclined  to  laugh. 

SIR  BORS.  Is  not  this  questing  in  the  dark?  Will  not  the  lady 
show  us  her  visage? 

ARTHUR.     Unwimple  your  visage,  dame! 

[Turning  her  face  to  the  window,  the  Stranger  raises  her  hood 
for  a  few  seconds.  All  crowd  forward  to  gaze  on  her,  then  turn 
away,  the  men  with  suppressed  horror  and  the  women  with  ill- 
suppressed  mirth.  Exclamations  rise  from  all  sides:  "Oh, 
what  an  unlovely  lady!  .  .  .  By  my  soul,  a  loathly  lady!" 

SIR  MELIOGRANCE  (his  voice  quaJcing  with  fear).     Is  there  no 


132  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

way  but  this?    Leaver  would  I  shed  the  best  blood  of  my 

body  than  .  .  .  than  .  .  . 

[Breaks  of,  stammering,  not  wishing  to  be  rude. 

ARTHUR.     There  is  none  other  way! 

SIR  BORS.  I  am  hors  de  combat !  Already  is  my  troth  plighted 
to  ...  to  ...  to  several  ladies! 

SIR  BLEOBERIS  (hastily}.     And  mine!     To  the  same  ladies! 

THE  OTHER  KNIGHTS.     Cowards!     Cowards! 

BIR  GRIFLET  (runs  forward  and  casts  himself  at  Arthur's  feet}. 
Sir,  I  never  yet  applied  me  to  be  married,  but  an  it  please 
ye,  I  will  win  worship  in  this  wise! 
[All  the  Ladies  murmur  admiringly,  "Gallant  child!" 

ARTHUR.  Rise,  Sir  Griflet!  This  adventure  is  for  your  elders 
.  .  .  your  betters  could  not  be!  ...  Sir  Kay  .  .  . 

SIR  KAY  (hurriedly).  This  is  matter  for  Sir  Gawayne!  (This 
is  greeted  with  a  slight  general  exclamation;  the  Knight  con- 
tinues) For  the  slaying  of  a  lady  by  misadventure  and 
smiting  off  her  head  is  he  not  sworn  upon  the  Four  Evan- 
gelists never  to  refuse  courtesy  to  lady  ne  gentlewoman  so 
long  as  he  shall  live? 
[All  the  Knights  heartily  assent  to  this. 

SIR  GAWAYNE.     Now  by  faith  of  my  body  .  .  . 

ALL  THE  KNIGHTS  (hurriedly).  Aye!  Sir  Gawayne  is  the  fel- 
low for  this  adventure! 

GUINEVERE  (imploring,  hands  out  to  him).  Dear  nephew  .  .  . 
for  the  love  of  the  high  order  of  knighthood,  assent  to  this, 
I  beseech  ye ! 

SIR  GAWAYNE  (after  a  pause).     I  assent  me! 
[A  sigh  of  relief  goes  up  from  all  sides. 

ARTHUR.  Truly,  nephew,  ye  have  a  mighty  heart!  (He  pre- 
sents the  Stranger  to  the  Knight)  Take  her,  and  God  be  your 
speed! 

GUINEVERE  (to  the  assembled  people).  Avoid!  Avoid!  To- 
gether will  they  be  more  at  their  hearts' ease !  (All  go.  The 
Queen  continues,  addressing  the  Stranger)  Lady,  we  will  make 
ready  in  the  goodliest  wise  that  may  be  devised  for  the 
betrothal  feast! 


The  Testing  of  Sir  Gawayne  133 

[She  and  the  King  also  go.  Left  together  Gawayne  and  Deliv- 
erance gaze  on  one  another;  then,  involuntarily,  the  young  man 
turns  away  and  covers  his  face  with  his  hands.  He  then  re- 
sumes his  interrupted  task  of  polishing  his  shield.  The  Lady 
goes  to  him  with  a  brisker  step  than  we  have  yet  seen  her  em- 
ploy, and  touches  him  on  the  shoulder.  With  a  start  and  an 
ejaculation  he  looks  up  at  her  hopefully. 

SIR  GAWAYNE.     Gramercy!     The  face  in  the  shield!  .  .  .  Ah! 
(He  sighs  heavily)     'Twas  but  a  trick  of  fantasy !     Woven  of 
moonlight  and  dawn! 
[He  goes  on  polishing. 

DELIVERANCE.     Pluck  up  heart.     All  may  yet  be  well ! 

SIR  GAWAYNE.  All  is  well,  madam.  (He  rises')  An  ye  have 
no  commands  for  me  I  will  go  make  me  ready  in  seemly 
sort  for  our  betrothal! 

DELIVERANCE.  Rather  abide,  and  suffer  me  to  do  thankings 
unto  thee,  for  much  have  ye  done  for  me!  An  ye  wist  how 
ye  have  holpen  a  dolourous  lady! 

SIR  GAWAYNE.  I  but  stand  upon  my  knighthood,  madam! 
(He  is  about  to  go,  when  there  enters,  confronting  him,  a  young 
and  gallant  Knight,  in  full  armour.  Gawayne  stops  short, 
staring  at  him)  Now,  by  my  head  .  .  .  the  face  I  saw  in 
my  shield!  (He  passes  a  hand  over  his  puzzled  brow)  Of 
whence  be  ye,  and  how  called? 

THE  KNIGHT  [DELIVERED  I  am  extract  of  noble  blood.  I  am 
hight  Delivere.  I  am  brother  to  this  lady! 

SIR  GAWAYNE.     Brother  to  .  .  .   ! 

[He  looks  from  one  to  the  other,  incredulous. 

DELIVERE  (corroborating  his  own  assertion).  To  Deliverance 
La  Belle  Pilgrim! 

SIR  GAWAYNE.     Now  by  my  head  you  speak  a  great  wonder! 

DELIVERE.  By  the  crafts  of  sorcery  I  was  turned  into  the  outra- 
geous giant,  keeping  the  evil  customs  whereby  Arthur  and  his 
Court  were  put  in  jeopard!  My  sister  alone  knew  the  true 
answer  to  my  rede,  but  none  could  learn  it  or  ever  a  wor- 
shipful knight  should  promise  to  take  and  wed  her  unto  his 
wife!  In  this  ye  stand  a  proved  knight  of  matchless  chiv- 


134  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

airy!    But  an  ye  would  save  yourself  unshamed  from  this 
marriage,  come  and  joust  with  me ! 

SIR  GAWAYNE  (with  a  cry  of  joy).  Now  Heaven  be  praised, 
right  glad  and  blithe  am  I,  for  liefer  an  hundred  times  would 
I  die  with  fighting  worship  than  live  with  wedded  woe !  Come, 
Sir  Knight,  to  the  assay,  and  spare  me  not,  for  I  warn  thee 
I  will  not  spare  thee!  Come  and  prove  who  will  be  first  to 
say  Ho !  (Deliverance,  who  has  hobbled  back  to  the  hearth, 
cowers  in  her  chair,  moaning,  "Now  am  I  the  wofullest  lady 
of  the  world!")  Now  wherefore  this  dolourous  moaning? 

DELIVERANCE.  I  require  thee,  good  Knight,  as  thou  art  a  gen- 
tleman, not  to  gainsay  your  avows  to  me! 

SIR  GAWAYNE  (pauses  irresolute).  Now  was  ever  knight  in  such 
plight,  between  fire  and  water  as  it  might  be! 

DELIVERE.     Coward !     Coward ! 

SIR  GAWAYNE  (starting  to  go  to  him).  Now  by  the  faith  of  my 
body  never  will  I  yield  me  nor  say  the  loth  word ! 

DELIVERANCE.     Traitor!    Traitor! 

SIR  GAWAYNE  (stopping  short).  Now  by  the  Four  Evangelists 
.  .  .  (He  takes  a  sudden  decision,  and  goes  toward  his  bride) 
Lady,  love  is  free  in  himself,  and  never  will  be  bound,  but 
I  shall  be  your  servant  and  knight  in  right  and  wrong,  and 
I  shall  never  fail  you  to  do  as  much  as  a  knight  may  do,  and 
I  promise  you  faithfully  that  I  shall  be  all  the  days  of  my 
life  your  knight! 

DELIVERE.     Coward ! 

SIR  GAWAYNE.  Not  so,  Sir  DeKvere,  for,  God  wot,  I  have 
chosen  the  more  perilous  part! 

DELIVERANCE.     Now  this  gladdeth  well  my  heart,  for  so  have 
ye  delivered  me  from  the  bondage  of  enchantment!     Look, 
Sir  Knight!     Behold  the  visage  of  your  bride! 
[Standing  erect,  and  ihrowing  back  her  hood  she  discloses  the 
countenance  of  a  young  woman  of  great  beauty. 

SIR  GAWAYNE  (with  a  cry  of  great  joy).  Lady!  The  damosel 
I  saw  in  my  shield  ...  all  passing  young  and  peerless  fair! 
.  .  .  Sir  Knights  and  Ladies!  (He  goes  toward  the  banquet- 
ing-hall,  calling)  Come,  and  witness  a  great  marvel!  (All 


The  Testing  of  Sir  Gawayne  135 

come  in,  in  great  excitement,  and  from  the  other  direction  come 
the  King  and  Queen,  with  their  attendants,  bringing  a  rich 
robe  and  sparkling  jewels  for  the  bride.  Excitedly  Sir  Gawayne 
invites  their  attention  to  Deliverance)  Behold  my  bride  .  .  . 
the  damosel  I  saw  anon,  all  passing  young  and  peerless  fair! 
[But,  even  as  he  had  turned  from  her,  Deliverance  drew  her 
hood  over  her  head,  wrapped  her  mantle,  huddling,  about  her 
bent  shoulders,  and  relapsed  into  the  form  of  an  aged  crone. 
All  look  amazed. 

SIR  KAY  (takes  her  by  the  arm  and  turns  her  toward  the  light; 
then  bursts  into  great  laughter).     By  my  head,  he's  clean  out 
of  his  wits!  .  .  .  Passing  fair?     The  loathly  lady! 
[All  echo  this,  and  troop  off,  mocking  Sir  Gawayne. 

GUINEVERE  (who  with  the  King  remains).  The  unlovely  lady, 
the  loathly  lady  passing  fair?  Poor,  poor  gentleman!  He 
is  under  the  spell  of  a  dolourous  enchantment ! 

ARTHUR.     Pray  Heaven  he  may  never  get  well  of  it! 

SIR  GAWAYNE  (sternly,  to  his  bride).  What  means  this:  now 
young  and  fair,  now  old  and  wizened?  This  is  no  stability! 

DELIVERANCE.  Alas,  dear  love!  The  spell  is  still  on  me, 
whereby  I  may  be  young  and  fair  to  you  alone,  and  old  and 
bent  in  company;  or  young  and  fair  in  company,  and  old 
and  bent  to  you  alone!  It  is  for  you  to  choose! 

SIR  GAWAYNE.  Oh,  what  a  burden  is  thrust  upon  me!  Alone 
with  you  to  enjoy  your  delectable  beauty,  and  in  company 
to  endure  the  tauntings  and  mockage  of  men  ...  or  in  com- 
pany to  have  the  envy  of  all  for  my  lovely  bride,  and  alone 
with  you  to  discover  a  loathly  crone  of  an  hundred  years 
of  age! 
[He  groans,  throwing  himself  into  a  chair  and  covering  his  face. 

DELIVERE  (sharply).     Choose  ye  now,  or  look  well  to  yourself! 

SIR  GAWAYNE.  Leave  that,  Sir  Delivere!  .  .  .  (He  goes  to  De- 
liverance) I  give  it  to  thee,  for  my  wedding-gift,  the  thing 
that  all  women  do  most  desire  .  .  .  your  own  will  in  this 
affair,  to  do  as  you  may  list! 

DELIVERANCE  (casting  aside  her  mantle  and  throwing  up  her 
arms  with  a  great  cry  of  joy).  Oh,  laudings  and  praisings  to 


136  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

Heaven,  for  now  is  my  cup  of  happiness  brim-filled  and 
running  over!  ...  Sir  Gawayne,  ye  have  passed  the  third 
and  last  test  of  chivalry,  and  so  have  delivered  me  forever 
from  the  crafts  of  sorcery! 

SIR  GAWAYNE  (overjoyed,  almost  in  a  whisper).  What!  Is  it 
true?  Ye  are  all  fair  for  all  times,  in  company  and  for  me 
alone? 

DELIVERE.  It  is  true!  She  is  a  full  fair  maid,  good  and 
gentle,  and  right  well  taught,  so  may  each  love  other  entirely! 
[Arthur  and  Guinevere,  who  were  standing  at  a  distance,  have 
joined  the  group,  attracted  by  Deliverance's  cry,  and  now  offer 
their  felicitations.  Guinevere  kisses  the  bride,  and  places  a 
jewel  in  her  lovely  hair  and  a  chain  about  her  fair  neck. 

ARTHUR  (to  the  two  Servants,  who  stand  at  the  entrance  to  the 
banqueting -hall) .  Let  blow!  Let  blow!  (At  a  bugle  blast 
from  these  all  enter  hurriedly.  The  King  addresses  them) 
Now  is  greater  worship  than  ever  before  won  to  our  goodly 
fellowship,  sithence  our  dear  nephew  Sir  Gawayne  hath 
passed  the  third  and  final  test  of  chivalry! 
[All  exclaim  rejoicing. 

SIR  KAY.    But  .  .  .  where  is  the  loathly  lady? 

ALL.    Aye,  where  is  the  unlovely  lady  .  .  .  the  loathly  lady? 

ARTHUR.  Yon  stands  she,  freed  forever  from  the  evil  spell  of 
sorcery!  And  by  the  faith  of  my  body  I  do  think  she  is 
the  fairest  lady  of  the  world  but  if  it  were  Queen  Guinevere ! 


ABOUT  PINKIE  AND  THE  FAIRIES 

I  only  wish  that  everyone  who  likes  to  receive  a  good  letter 
through  the  mails  might  have  one  from  W.  Graham  Robertson. 
He  lives  at  Sandhills,  Witley,  in  Surrey,  England;  and  there 
he  draws  pictures,  writes  verses  and  plays,  collects  Old  Eng- 
lish songs,  and  publishes,  now  and  again,  volumes  which  bear 
such  delectable  titles  as  "A  Masque  of  May  Morning",  "A 
Year  of  Songs  for  a  Baby  in  a  Garden",  "The  Baby's  Day 
Book",  "The  Slippers  of  Cinderella",  and  "Pinkie  and  the 
Fairies." 

His  two  great  loves  seem  to  be  Old  England  and  children. 
In  his  home  life  he  treasures  literary  association  and  the  com- 
radeship of  young  neighbours.  Every  letter  it  has  been  my  good 
fortune  to  have  from  him  contains  some  trace  of  this  fervour  in 
him.  He  has  been  sadly  touched,  as  so  many  in  England  have 
been,  by  the  effects  of  the  World  War,  and  he  has  a  feeling 
that  some  of  the  beauty  of  England  has  been  killed  in  the 
conflict.  Here  is  what  he  writes: 

"The  London  that  I  knew  and  loved  (now  and  then)  van- 
ished completely  in  1914,  and  will  never  return:  and  the  present 
noisy,  unlovely  city,  full  of  noisy,  mannerless,  unlovely  people, 
attracts  me  not  at  all. 

"Here,  in  this  little  land  of  yesterday,  we  can  still  make 
believe  that  all  is  right  with  the  world  —  but  if  you  wish  to 
see  any  such  remains  of  Old  England,  you  must  come  over 
quickly  —  they  will  not  last  long. 

"  Here  we  produce  our  own  *  Children's  Plays.'  I  write  them 
and  they  are  performed  under  my  direction  by  a  troupe  of 
enthusiastic  local  Infants.  .  .  .  We  are  saddened  just  now  by 
the  departure  to  school  of  our  Leading  Lady  after  her  greatest 
triumph  in  'The  Slippers  of  Cinderella.' 

"For  the  moment  I  am  immersed  in  a  Village  Pageant  Play 
which  I  have  written  for  the  lovely  old  village  of  Chiddingford, 


138  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

four  miles  from  here,  on  the  edge  of  the  weald.  It  is  to  be  played 
in  June.  As  nothing  has  ever  happened  at  Chiddingford  —  in 
spite  of  its  age  —  the  Pageant  is  a  work  of  pure  fiction;  but  that, 
of  course,  must  not  transpire.  Luckily,  there  are  many  local 
legends,  and  I  am  able  to  present  a  Dragon,  Fairies,  and  a 
Vision  of  Saints,  with  some  faint  and  far-away  excuse.  The  one 
genuine  Fairy  Hill  in  England  is  here  —  there  are  two  in  Scot- 
land and  several  in  Ireland,  but  our  Hydon  Ball  is  the  only  Eng- 
lish specimen.  So,  of  course,  the  Elle-maids  of  Hydon  Ball 
are  quite  a  feature." 

After  reading  "Pinkie  and  the  Fairies,"  it  occurred  to  me 
that  maybe  Mr.  Robertson  would  have,  tucked  away  in  his 
recollection,  some  fascinating  incidents  connected  with  the 
writing  of  this  fairy  play.  Certainly  it  must  have  been  called 
forth  by  some  charming  happenings  connected  with  childhood. 
I  will  let  him  tell  the  story  in  his  own  entertaining  way: 

"  'Pinkie'  —  if  it  had  any  aim,  which  I  doubt  —  was  a*n  at- 
tempt to  put  upon  the  stage  the  passing  of  a  day  and  a  night 
in  the  life  of  an  imaginative  child;  to  show  the  'workaday 
world  of  every  day'  as  seen  from  a  child's  point  of  view. 

"The  idea  of  the  play  grew  out  of  the  daily  life  of  a  little 
girl,  Marion  Melville,  whose  pet  name  was  'Binkie.'  She  was 
the  daughter  of  my  great  friend,  the  late  Arthur  Melville,  the 
artist,  and  she  lived  (like  a  proper  fairy-tale  heroine)  in  a  tiny 
farmhouse  at  the  edge  of  a  wood. 

"A  little  way  within  the  wood  was  a  barrier  of  wire  netting 
to  keep  the  rabbits  out  of  the  garden,  and  in  the  barrier  was  a 
small  wooden  gate  which  —  for  the  baby  girl  —  led  to  the  un- 
known, and  was  terribly  attractive.  To  prevent  her  from 
straying,  I  invented  the  legend  that  the  Rabbit  Gate,  as  it 
was  called,  led  to  Fairyland,  and  could  only  be  passed  by  per- 
sons over  four  years  old. 

"This  stratagem  worked  wonderfully,  and  kept  Binkie  within 
due  bounds  till  she  was  Four  —  when  I  was  up  against  a  diffi- 
culty. Either  she  must  still  be  denied  passage  through  the 
Rabbit  Gate  —  which  would  be  false  to  tradition  —  or  she  must 
go  through  the  Gate  and  find  Fairyland.  And  Binkie  at  Four 
was  remarkably  astute,  and  had  more  than  a  suspicion  that 
the  whole  tale  was  a  fable  and  only  framed  to  keep  her  from 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  139 

the  joys  of  a  delightfully  muddy  and  smelly  frog  pond  that 
lay  in  the  lower  woods. 

"So  I  was  in  desperate  case,  and  had  to  set  to  work  with  a 
will,  and,  on  her  fourth  birthday,  when  the  shadows  began  to 
fall,  and  the  woods  became  caverns  of  mystery,  Binkie  was  led 
solemnly  down  to  the  Rabbit  Gate,  wholly  incredulous  and 
inclined  to  scoff.  But  no  one  can  keep  up  that  attitude  for  long 
in  a  twilight  wood,  and  she  arrived  at  the  Gate  duly  chastened. 
Then  we  knocked  and  spoke  strange  words  of  conjuration, 

*  Under  the  Moon  and  under  the  Sun, 

Will  the  Gate  unclose  to  a  Woman  of  One?' 

and  Binkie  gasped  and  clutched  me  when  a  tiny  Voice  from 
beyond  answered, 

'Woman  of  One,  it  may  not  be  done.' 

"We  screwed  up  our  courage  and  spoke  the  next  lines  of 
the  spell, 

'Under  the  Green  and  under  the  Blue, 
Will  the  Gate  unclose  to  a  Woman  of  Two?' 

and  the  tiny  Voice  answered  again, 

'Woman  of  Two,  'tis  not  for  you,' 

and  so  on  up  to  Four,  when  the  Gate  swung  mysteriously  open 
and  Binkie,  now  much  wrought  up,  passed  timidly  through. 

"Within  stood  the  Guardian  of  the  Gate,  a  small  figure  in 
trailing  robes  of  silver,  flower-crowned,  and  holding  a  sceptre  of 
purple  iris;  and  while  it  spoke  rhymed  words  of  welcome,  there 
was  a  sound  of  distant  singing  that  grew  louder  and  louder, 
until  out  from  the  wood  in  all  directions  crept  the  Fairies,  with 
their  pale  faces  and  shadowy  hair  and  glittering  green  robes; 
and  they  clustered  round  the  child  and  sang  to  her  and  danced 
round  her  and  drew  her  down  a  wonderful  alleyway  where 
strange  golden  fruit  hung  and  impossible  flowers  bloomed  and 
mysterious  lights  appeared  and  disappeared;  and  the  last  of 
the  daylight  faded,  and  the  moon  came  up  through  the  cop- 
pice, and  suddenly  Binkie  came  out  into  a  clearing  and  —  there 
were  no  more  Fairies,  no  more  singing, —  only  the  grey  woods 
and  a  great  silence. 


140  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

"The  wonderful  adventure  of  the  Fourth  Birthday  was  over. 
Strangely  enough  she  never  expected  to  meet  the  Fairies  again, 
but  she  knew  that  she  had  walked  with  them  under  the  moon,  and 
the  wood  was  the  Fairy  Wood  always.  It  was  rather  a  dangerous 
experiment,  and,  if  I  had  known  then  what  I  know  now  about 
that  wood,  I  should  not  have  ventured  upon  it;  but  the  Folk 
in  Green  did  not  appear  to  resent  it,  and  there  were  no  un- 
pleasant consequences. 

"In  later  life  and  after  'Tommy*  had  come  on  the  scene  (he 
was  really  a  cousin,  not  a  brother),  I  have  no  doubt  that  they 
found  their  own  Fairies  in  the  Fairy  Wood  —  but  of  course  they 
did  not  mention  them  to  me. 

"I  used  to  make  for  Binkie  a  pictured  story-book  on  each  of 
her  birthdays,  and  the  first  sketch  for  'Pinkie  and  the  Fairies*  * 
was  in  one  of  these  productions. 

"  'Pinkie's*  theatrical  history  began  much  as  usual.  The 
manuscript  went  about  from  theater  to  theater,  and  found  few 
friends  for  more  than  a  year;  then  it  came  into  Sir  Herbert 
Tree's  hands,  and  he  took  a  great  fancy  to  it.  I  had  read  it 
to  my  friend,  Ellen  Terry,  at  her  old  farmhouse  on  a  summer's 
evening,  and,  when  she  heard  that  it  was  to  be  produced,  she 
wrote  to  me,  and,  to  my  amazement  and  delight,  offered  to 
play  'Aunt  Imogen.'  So  it  was  produced  at  His  Majesty's 
with  a  wonderful  'star*  cast,  and  — I  think  that's  all. 

"As  to  my  life  in  Surrey,  about  which  you  ask  me,  well,  — 
what  is  there  to  be  said?  It's  quite  uneventful,  except  from 
'Pinkie's'  point  of  view. 

"I  stray  about  with  Ben,  my  old,  grey  sheep  dog,  and  try 
to  paint  pictures  and  to  write  nonsense.  But  it's  in  a  wonder- 
ful little  unspoilt  corner  of  the  world,  with  a  curious  Faerie 
atmosphere  which  many  people  sense  when  they  visit  it.  The 
Fairy  Hill  is  close  by,  not  far  off  the  Ancient  Way  lies  across 
Surrey  by  which  Chaucer's  Pilgrims  rode  to  Canterbury,  Bun- 
yan's  'Christian*  passed  this  way  towards  the  Delectable 
Mountains  which  lie  between  me  and  the  sunset,  Vanity  Fair 
(Stratford  Fair)  stretches  over  many  acres  of  ground  below 
St.  Catherine's  Chapel  by  Guildford,  and  Doubting  Castle 
(now  Dowding)  is  still  a  name.  Guildford,  our  big  market 
town,  was  once  Astolat,  where  Elaine  tended  Launcelot,  and 

1  In  the  Heinemann  (London)  edition. 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  141 

the  Great  Moor  of  Thursley  (Thor's  Lea)  was  sacred  to  Thor, 
whose  altar  stone  lies  among  the  marshes. 

"It's  a  land  of  legend,  and  still  belongs  far  more  to  the 
past  than  to  the  present  —  which  suits  an  obsolete  anachronism 
like  me." 

Could  there  be  a  better  Prologue  to  a  fanciful  play? 


PINKIE  AND  THE  FAIRIES 


BY  W.  GRAHAM  ROBERTSON 


Dedication 
TO  A  WOMAN  OF  FIVE 

When  Grandpapa  was  young,  dear, 

The  Fairy  Gate  stood  wide; 
No  veiling  cloud-wreath  clung,  dear, 

The  Garden  Blue  to  hide; 
The  Blue  Bird  lilted  there,  dear, 

No  song  he  left  unsung  — 
The  world  was  very  fair,  dear, 

When  Grandpapa  was  young. 

Now  Grandpapa  is  old,  dear, 

But  you  must  lead  the  way, 
The  Fairy  flights  unfold,  dear, 

To-day  as  yesterday. 
The  rose  is  just  as  red,  dear, 

The  daffodil  as  gold, 
Though  yours  the  flower-crowned  head,  dear, 

And  Grandpapa  is  old. 


All  Rights  of  Translation  and  Performance  Reserved. 


CAST 

As  originally  produced  at  his  Majesty's  Theatre,  London, 
England,  December  19,  1908. 

AUNT  IMOGEN Miss  Ellen  Terry 

AUNT  CAROLINE Miss  Augusta  Haviland 

UNCLE  GREGORY Mr.  Frederick  Volpe 

MOLLY Miss  Stella  Patrick-Campbell 

PINKIE Miss  Iris  Hawkins 

TOMMY Master  Philip  Tonge 

ELF  PICKLE Master  Sidney  Sherwood 

ELF  WHISPER Miss  Marjorie  Burgess 

ELF  TWINKLE Miss  Kathleen  Yorke 

HERALD Miss  H.  Gingold 

PRINCE  FROG Master  William  Parke 

CINDERELLA Miss  Marie  Lohr 

THE  SLEEPING  BEAUTY  .     .     .  Miss  Viola  Tree 

BEAUTY Miss  Winifred  Beech 

THE  BEAST Mr.  Walter  Creighton 

JACK  THE  GIANT  KILLER    .     .  Master  Francis  Walker 

JACK  OF  THE  BEANSTALK   .     .  Master  Frank  Varna 

QUEEN  OF  THE  FAIRIES      .     .  A  YOUNG  LADY  (who  makes 

her  first  appearance  on  any 

stage). 

The  Music  composed  by  Mr.  Frederic  Norton 

ACT  I 

EVENING  IN  THE  GARDEN 

ACT  II 

NIGHT  IN  THE  WOOD 

ACT  III 

MORNING  IN  THE  GARDEN 

(Some  of  the  Lyrics  are  omitted  in  the  performance) 


PERSONS  OF  THE  PLAY 

Grown-ups. 

AUNT  CAROLINE. 
AUNT  IMOGEN. 
UNCLE  GREGORY. 
MOLLY. 

Children. 
PINKIE. 
TOMMY. 

Fairies. 

ELF  PICKLE. 

ELF  WHISPER. 

ELF  TWINKLE. 

A  FAIRY  HERALD. 

THE  QUEEN  OF  THE  FAIRIES. 

Folk  of  Fairy  Tale. 

CINDERELLA. 
THE  SLEEPING  BEAUTY. 
BEAUTY. 
THE  BEAST. 

JACK  THE  GIANT  KILLER. 
JACK  OF  THE  BEANSTALK. 
Gardener,  Telegraph  Boy,  Fairies,  Frogs,  Squirrels,  etc. 


ACT  I 
EVENING  IN  THE  GARDEN 

A  Prelude  of  a  Pastoral  character  heralds  the  rise  of  the  cur- 
tain. Into  it  gradually  steal  the  notes  of  a  piano,  and,  as  the 
scene  is  disclosed,  it  becomes  painfully  apparent  that  some  one  is 
obliging  with  five-finger  exercises,  and  doing  so  very  badly.  The 
strains  issue  from  a  small,  old-fashioned  house  standing  on  a 
low  terrace  whence  a  few  steps  lead  down  into  the  garden.  From 
a  gate  among  trees  a  path  leads  to  the  house.  A  thick  wood  sur- 
rounds the  garden. 

The  Prelude  struggles  with  the  piano  for  a  while,  but  is  finally 
worsted  and  ceases.  The  exercise  continues  in  triumph,  and  a 
plaintive  voice  within  the  house  counts:  "One  and  two  and  three 
and  —  O  bother!  —  One  and  two  and  — ,"  etc. 

[Enter  Tommy  aimlessly  looking  for  something. 
TOMMY.     Pinkie!     (The  exercises  continue)     Pinkie!  !  ! 

[  The  notes  falter  and  cease. 

PINKIE  (within).     Two  and  three  and Yes!     Well? 

TOMMY.     Where's  the  nozzle  of  the  garden  hose? 

PINKIE.     In  the  shed  —  isn't  it? 

TOMMY.     No.     You  had  it  yesterday  as  the  golden  spy-glass 

of  Prince  Houssain. 

[Pinkie  appears  at  window. 
PINKIE.     O,  I  know  then.     It's  in  the  dust  bin.     That  was 

the  royal  palace  —  don't  you  remember?    Why ?    Who  wants 

it? 

TOMMY.     Mr.  Irons.     He's  awfully  cross  about  it. 
PINKIE.     Is  he  in  the  garden? 
TOMMY.     No,  he's  gone  with  the  donkey-cart  to  fetch  Cousin 

Molly's  box. 


148  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

PINKIE.     Gracious!     She's   coming  to-day.     I  had  forgotten! 

Tommy ! 
TOMMY.     Yes. 
PINKIE.     Look  down  the  road  and  tell  me  if  you  see  ever  such 

a  little  bit  of  Aunt  Caroline. 
TOMMY  (running  to  gate).     No,  not  a  bit. 
PINKIE.     Are  you  looking  right  down  —  as  far  as  the  corner? 
TOMMY.     There's   not   a   scrap  of  her,   nor   of  Aunt   Imogen 

neither.     Uncle  Gregory's  about  somewhere. 

[Pinkie  opens  window  and  runs  out. 
PINKIE.     He  doesn't  matter  —  he's  got  the  paper.     I  can  leave 

off  for  a  bit.     Tommy  —  about  Cousin  Molly. 
TOMMY.     What? 

PINKIE.     Well,  what  are  we  to  do  with  her? 
TOMMY.     We  sha'n't  have  anything  to  do  with  her.     She'll  be 

a  Grown-up,  won't  she? 
PINKIE.     I'm  afraid  she  won't  —  quite.     I'm  afraid  she'll  be 

sort  of  half  and  half.     Do  you  remember  the  Cromley  girls? 
TOMMY.     Pigs ! 

PINKIE.     O,  Pigs!!    Tommy!     Suppose  she's  like  that. 
TOMMY.     A  sneak,  you  mean? 
"'^Pinkie  nods.     A  dismal  pause. 
TOMMY.     What's  she  coming  here  for? 
PINKIE.     She's  been  sent  here.     She's  been  doing  something 

bad  —  or,  no,  she's  been  wanting  to  do  something  bad. 
TOMMY  (approvingly).     Good  for  her!     What? 
PINKIE.     Get  married,  I  think. 
TOMMY.     O,  only  grown-up  rot. 
PINKIE.     Yes.     I  heard  them  talking  about  it.     She  wants  to 

marry  someone  —  and  she  isn't  to  —  so  she's  sent  here. 

TOMMY.     But  she  can  marry  someone  here  just  as  well  as 

PINKIE.     Yes,  but  not  that  someone. 

TOMMY.     Well,  she's  not  coming  here  marrying  Me,  and  so  I 

tell  her! 
PINKIE.     Silly!     It's    just    this    'ticular    someone  —  and    she 

mustn't. 
TOMMY.     How  old  is  she? 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  149 

PINKIE.     Seventeen,  I  think. 

TOMMY.     Ever  so  old. 

PINKIE.     Yes,  but  They  won't  think  so.     And  she'll  have  tea 

with  us  —  and  go  for  walks  with  us  and  —  O  it  will  be 

simply  beastly! 
TOMMY.     And  she  won't  care  about  anything  we  do  because 

she'll  really  be  a  Grown-up.     Isn't  it  queer  that  they  never 

care  to  have  any  fun? 
PINKIE.     Yes,  when  they  can  do  just  everything  they  like  — 

there  they  sit  and  do  nothing. 
TOMMY.     With  thoir  best  clothes  on.     We  sha'n't  be  like  that 

when  we're  grown  up,  shall  we? 
PINKIE.     0,  I  do  hope  we  sha'n't! 


DUET 

PINKIE. 

When  I  am  a  Grown-up  Lady 

I'll  never  wear  Sunday  frocks, 
But  my  holland  (the  brown)  with  the  tucks  let  down 

Without  any  shoes  or  socks. 
And  my  oldest  hat  that  was  sat  upon  flat 

And  sank  in  the  pond  and  ran. 
When  I  am  a  Grown-up  Lady,  you  know, 

And  you  are  a  Grown-up  Man. 

PINKIE  (with  Tommy). 

O  my  eye !    The  things  we'll  do ! 
We'll  do  as  we  like  on  a  private  plan, 
When  I  am  a  Grown-up  Lady  and  you 
Are  a  Grown-up  Gentleman. 

TOMMY  (with  Pinkie). 

O  my  eye!    The  days  will  fly! 
We'll  do  as  we  like  on  a  private  plan, 
When  you  are  a  Grown-up  Lady  and  I 
Am   a  Grown-up  Gentleman. 


150          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

TOMMY.     I'll  keep  white  mice  in  the  dining-room! 

PINKIE.     I'll  take  my  rabbit  to  bed! 

TOMMY. 

And  what  a  relief  to  drop  mutton  and  beef 

And  have  strawberry  ice  instead ! 
I'll  drive  everywhere  with  a  spirited  pair 

Which  perhaps  you  may  not  enjoy. 
PINKIE. 

But  I  mean  to  start  in  the  grocer's  cart 

With  the  grown-up  grocer's  boy. 

BOTH. 

O  my  buttons  and  O  my  eye! 
We'll  do  as  we  like  as  of  course  we  can. 

And  the  bands  will  play  and  the  pigs  will  fly 
When  I  am  (you  are)  a  Lady  in  Bye  and  Bye, 

And  you  are  (I  am)  a  Grown-up  Man. 
[As  they  dance  to  refrain  the  garden  gate  clicks. 

PINKIE.     S — t!    There's  the  garden  gate! 
[Enter  Mr.  Irons  through  gate  with  box. 

TOMMY.     It's  Molly's  box. 

PINKIE.     Mr.  Irons!    Mr.  Irons!    Are  they  coming?    Where 
are  they? 
[Mr.  Irons  points  over  his  shoulder.     Tommy  joins  him. 

PINKIE.     They're    walking     up.     O     my    exercises!    Quick! 
Quick! 
[She  dashes  towards  the  house. 

TOMMY.     Pinkie,  it  isn't  in  the  dust-bin!    He's  looked  there. 

PINKIE.    Look  in  the  pig-tub  then,  silly!    Dear!    How  helpless 
men  are! 

[Exit  PinJcie  tumultuously  into  house.  The  exercises  recom- 
mence, and  the  Orchestra  from  their  motif  gradually  evolves 
a  solemn  march,  slowly  increasing  in  volume  and  heralding 
the  approach  of  the  Grown-ups.  Mr.  Irons  disappears  behind 
the  house  with  the  box. 

TOMMY.     Pinkie ! 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  151 

PINKIE  (from  within).     S-s-st!    Here  they  come. 

[Enter  processionally  by  the  gate  Aunt  Caroline,  Aunt  Imogen, 
and  Molly.     The  Aunts  conduct  Molly  round  the  garden. 

PROCESSIONAL  CHANT 

CAROLINE.    Here  you  see  our  homely  cot  — 
IMOGEN.     Latticed  casement!     Latticed  casement! 
CAROLINE.    When  we  came  we  found  dry  rot  — 
IMOGEN.     In  the  basement.     In  the  basement. 
CAROLINE.     Then  of  course  the  kitchen  sink  — 
IMOGEN.     Something  frightful!     Something  frightful! 
CAROLINE.     Yet  the  place  is  now,  I  think  — 
IMOGEN.     Most  delightful!    Most  delightful! 

AUNTS. 

East  or  North  or  South  or  West, 
Though  you  travel,  though  you  travel,  — 

When  you  come  to  make  your  nest, 

See  the  soil  is  of  the  best. 

Build  on  gravel  —  build  on  gravel. 

CAROLINE.     Here  and  there  I  made  a  change. 
IMOGEN.     Quite  judicious!    Quite  judicious! 
CAROLINE.     Cook  dislikes  an  open  range. 
IMOGEN.     So  capricious!     So  capricious! 
CAROLINE.     Stable  roof  was  far  from  sound  — 
IMOGEN.     Keen  detective !    Keen  detective! 
CAROLINE.     And  the  drainage  too  I  found  — 
IMOGEN.     Most  defective!    Most  defective! 
AUNTS.     East  or  North  or  South  or  West  [etc.]. 

CAROLINE.     Hot  and  cold  all  now  expect, 
IMOGEN  (tenderly).     Restless  toiler!    Restless  toiler ! 
CAROLINE.     So  the  taps  upstairs  connect  — 
IMOGEN.     With  the  boiler!    With  the  boiler! 
CAROLINE.     Ball  cocks  stay  the  cistern's  flow  — 
IMOGEN.     When  it's  quite  full  —  when  it's  quite  full  — 


152          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

CAROLINE.     So  the  place  is  now,  you  know  — 
IMOGEN.     Most  delightful!    Most  delightful! 
AUNTS. 

Search  the  world  from  East  to  West, 

Every  nation,  every  nation, 
Sea-girt  Britain  stands  confessed 
Queen  of  latest  and  of  best 
Sanitation  —  sanitation. 

CAROLINE.     Well,  Molly  child,  so  here  you  are. 

MOLLY.     Yes,  Aunt  Caroline. 

IMOGEN.     So  delighted  to  have  you  with  us,  dear  child. 

MOLLY.     Thank  you,  Aunt  Imogen. 

CAROLINE.  Is  that  the  sort  of  thing  young  girls  are  wearing 
in  Town  just  now? 

MOLLY.     I  —  I  think  so,  Aunt  Caroline. 

CAROLINE.    H'mm ! 

IMOGEN.     You  mean  you  think  it  will  not  wash,  Caroline? 

CAROLINE.     I  did  not  say  so,  Imogen. 

IMOGEN.  Perhaps  it  is  not  quite  —  but  never  mind,  dear 
child;  I  will  lend  you  some  brown  paper  patterns  —  and 
we're  so  delighted.  Where  is  your  Uncle  Gregory?  He  has 

been  50  looking  forward  —  he'll  be  50  delight 

[Uncle  Gregory  unexpectedly  emerges  from  a  newspaper  and 
a  garden  chair  beneath  a  tree.  He  comes  forward,  blinking 
uneasily. 

CAROLINE.     Gregory,  this  is  Molly. 

IMOGEN.  Dear  Molly  has  arrived,  Gregory!  I  told  her  how 
delight  - 

GREGORY.     Eh?    Er  —  how  de  do  —  Ha,  hum. 

MOLLY.     How  do  you  do,  Uncle  Gregory? 

GREGORY.   Eh  ?   Ha — er Did  you  bring  the  evening  paper  ? 

MOLLY.     No,  Uncle  Gregory. 

GREGORY.      Tut,  tut. 

[Retires  to  his  chair  again. 

IMOGEN.  A  rather  reserved  man,  dear,  but  so  good.  Gregory's 
heart  is  so  large. 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  153 

CAROLINE.     So's    his    liver.     Sedentary    habits    are    ruining 

Gregory. 
IMOGEN  (hastily).     And  here  are  your  little  companions,  dear  — 

Thomas  and  —  where  is  Elenour? 
TOMMY.     Practising. 
IMOGEN.     Ah  yes.     Elenour  loves  her  music  —  we  can  hardly 

part  her  from  her  piano. 

CAROLINE  (calling).     Elenour!    Why  have  you  ceased  playing? 
PINKIE  (from  within).     'Cos  my  hour's  up,  Aunt  Caroline. 
CAROLINE.     Come  and  say  How  do  you  do  to  your  cousin. 
TOMMY  (gruffly).     De  do? 

[Shakes  Molly's  hand  suddenly  and  violently. 
PINKIE  (running  out  of  house).     How  de  do,  cousin  Molly? 

[Molly  shakes  hands  and  murmurs  politely  —  an  awkward  pause. 
CAROLINE  (abruptly).     Well,  Molly,  of  course  you  know  that 

we  know  all  about  this  nonsense  of  yours.     And  we  quite 

agree  with  your  dear  parents  about  it.     Engagement,  in- 
deed!    In  my  young  days 

IMOGEN. Though  of  course,  dear,  your  Aunt  would  even 

now  be  considered 

CAROLINE.     in  my  young  days  girls  had  something  better 

to  think  about  than  engagements. 
IMOGEN. Though  naturally  both  your  Aunt  Caroline  and 

I 

CAROLINE  (hurriedly).     So  you  must  please  understand  that, 

while  you  are  with  us,  any  letters  you  may  receive  from 

this  person 

MOLLY.     Not  Person,  Aunt  Caroline. 

CAROLINE.     This  —  er  —  youth,  are  to  be  handed  to  me 

unopened,  and  you  will  give  me  your  promise  to  write  no 

letters  to  him.     Your  promise,  child. 
MOLLY.     Yes,  Aunt  Caroline. 

[Caroline  nods  approvingly  and  saunters  towards  the  house. 

Imogen  accompanies  her. 
PINKIE  (softly).     Cousin   Molly,  —  I've  heard   a   little  about 

—  about  things,  you  know.     I'm  so  sorry.     Couldn't  you 

write  one  little  letter?     I'll  post  it. 


154          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

MOLLY  (sadly  but  proudly) .     No,  dear.     You  heard  me  promise. 

I  can  write  no  letter,  for  I  have  given  my  word.     He  would 

not  have  me  stoop  to  deceit.     I  am  forced  to  send  a  sixpenny 

telegram. 
TOMMY.     And  I'll  give  it  to  Mr.  Irons  to  take  on  his  way  home. 

[Caroline  enters  the  house.     Imogen,  about  to  accompany  her, 

turns  and  comes  back  to  Molly. 
IMOGEN.     Dear  child!     (Kisses  her)     Mamma  has  told  me  of 

your  little  troubles.     Now,   let  us  be  great  friends.     You 

must  not  think  of  me  as  an  Aunt,  but   as  a  girl  friend  — 

will  you?  —  and  we  will  have  secrets  —  shall  we?    And  you 

shall  tell  me  all  about  it  —  'all  about  it,  to-morrow. 

[Kisses  her  again  and  follows  Caroline  into  house. 
TOMMY  (suddenly).     Cousin   Molly,  was  Aunt  Imogen  asking 

you  to  tell  her  "all  about  it"? 
MOLLY  (startled).    No  —  ye — es What^do  you  mean?    All 

about  what? 

TOMMY.     O  —  anything.    Was  she? 
MOLLY.    Yes,  she  was. 
TOMMY.     Then  don't.     She's  worse  than  the  other  one.    She's 

a  sneak.     P'raps  she  doesn't  know  it,  but  she  is. 
MOLLY  (walking  towards  house,   turns  suddenly).     Thank  you, 

Tommy.     It  was  rather  decent  of  you  to  tell  me.     I  think 

I  like  you. 

[Exit  into  house. 

TOMMY  (coming  to  Pinkie).     Well? 
PINKIE.     Well? 

TOMMY.     Well  —  I  don't  think  she's  half  bad.    I  rather  like  her. 
PINKIE.     I  don't  mind  her.     But  I  don't  see  what  we  are  going 

to  do  with  a  girl  in  long  frocks  and  with  her  hair  up.     She 

won't  have  friends  of  her  own,  and  we  can't  introduce  her 

to  our  friends. 

TOMMY.     The  Cromley  girls? 
PINKIE.     No,  silly.     Not  Party  friends  —  our  own  real  friends 

—  in  the  garden  and  the  woods. 
TOMMY.     You  mean  the 

[Music  until  song. 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  155 

PINKIE.    S-s-sh! 

TOMMY.    Why?    Nobody's  here. 

PINKIE.     You  know  they  don't  like  being  talked  about. 

TOMMY.     Not  to  Grown-ups.     They  don't  mind  our  talking 

about  them.     Besides,  you  got  that  out  of  a  book;    they 

never  said  we  were  not  to  talk  about  them. 
PINKIE.     No,  but  don't  you  feel  that  you  just  mustn't? — to 

Grown-ups,  I  mean. 
TOMMY.     Of  course  not  to  Grown-ups.     They  wouldn't  believe 

you.     Why,  when  they  speak  of  a  Fairy  Tale  they  mean 

something  that  isn't  true. 
PINKIE.     They  really  don't  believe  in  —  in  Them,  you  know. 

But  I  can't  think  how  they  can  help  seeing 

[Elf  Pickle  appears,  swinging  in  the  tree  under  which  Uncle 

Gregory  sits. 
PICKLE.     Me,  for  instance. 

[Elf  Whisper  emerges  from  a  flower  bed. 
WHISPER. Or  me. 

[Elf  Twinkle  skips  down  from  the  terraces. 

TWINKLE.     Or  me,  perhaps? 

PINKIE.     Pickle!     Whisper!    Twinkle!     O  Fairies  dear,  have 

you  come  to  play  with  us? 

PICKLE  (laughing).     We  heard  you  talking  about  us. 
WHISPER.     And  so  we  listened. 
TWINKLE.     We  always  do. 
PICKLE.     And  we  thought  we  would  just  drop  in. 

[Drops  in,  almost  on  the  top  of  Uncle  Gregory. 
TOMMY.     O  take  care! 
PINKIE.     Uncle  Gregory! 
PICKLE.     He  won't  notice. 
PINKIE.     No,   he  never  does.     Why  do   they   never  notice? 

Can't  they  see  you?    Are  you  all  invisible  to  them? 
PICKLE.     Invisible?     Dear  me,  no.     They  see  us  quite  well, 

only  they  think  they  don't.     That's  all. 

PINKIE.     But  —  how 

PICKLE.     Point  of  view,  you  know.     You  see  me  and  say: 

"That's  Fairy  Pickle,  of  course."     Gregory  sees  me  —  stares 


156  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

me  in  the  face  —  and  says:  "Of  course  that  isn't  Fairy  Pickle 

—  that's  a  grasshopper."     It's  just  point  of  view. 

[  The  three  Fairies  link  hands  and  move  fantastically  as  they 

sing. 

SONG 

PICKLE. 

Through  the  world  the  fairies  go  — 
To  and  fro. 

TWINKLE. 

Lightly  o'er  the  dappled  grass, 

Trip  and  pass. 
WHISPER. 

Say  the  Grown-ups,  looking  out: 
"How  the  leaves  are  blown  about! 
Such  a  gale  looks  bad,  no  doubt, 

With  a  falling  glass!" 

[Pinkie  and  Tommy  skip  forward. 

PINKIE  AND  TOMMY. 

O  so  old  and  O  so  wise! 

Learned  ears  and  learned  eyes! 

Yet  they  cannot  hear  or  see 

Half  so  much  as  little  we! 
WHISPER. 

Fairy  trumpets  in  the  air 

Proudly  blare. 
TWINKLE. 

Elfin  pomp  of  pageantry 

Ranges  free. 
PICKLE. 

Cry  the  Grown-ups  in  a  fright: 

"How  the  Midges  hum  to-night! 

Gracious !    How  the  creatures  bite ! 
There'll  be  rain,  you'll  see." 

PINKIE  AND  TOMMY  (as  before). 

O  so  old  and  O  so  wise! 
Learned  ears  and  learned  eyes ! 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  157 

Yet  they  cannot  hear  or  see 
Half  so  much  as  little  we! 
PICKLE. 

If  the  Grown-ups  like  to  see, 

Here  are  we! 
WHISPER. 

If  they  only  try  to  hear, 
We  speak  clear. 

TWINKLE. 

But  the  Grown-ups,  it  appears, 
Cannot  use  their  eyes  and  ears, 
Though  they've  had  them  years  and  years. 
Really  rather  queer! 

PINKIE  AND  TOMMY. 

Muffled  ears  and  blinded  eyes  — 
Could  we  wish  them  otherwise? 
If  they  did  but  hear  and  see, 
O  how  awkward  it  might  be ! 

[Fairies  laughingly  repeat  burden,  then,  as  if  thoroughly  accus- 
tomed to  each  other,  sit  down  with  the  children  on  the  grass. 
PINKIE.     Yes,  of  course  it  would  be  horrid  if  they  saw.     But 

as  they  don't,  they  never  give  us  a  chance  of  setting  out  in 

quest  of  adventures. 
TOMMY.     It's  always  time  for  something  —  meals  or  lessons  or 

something.     If  we  went  out  into  the  world  to  seek  our  fortune 

we  should  be  sure  to  be  late  for  tea. 
PINKIE.     Tommy  did  seek  his  once  —  all  the  way  to  Haslemere. 

But  he  never  found  it,  and  he  had  to  come  back  with  the 

fishmonger. 

TOMMY.     And  wasn't  there  a  row  when  I  got  back! 
PICKLE.      But  you  can  be  the  Good  little  children  who  are 

kind  to  animals  and  polite  to  the  aged. 

WHISPER.     And  who  have  pearls  and  diamonds  dropping  out 
^    of  their  mouths. 
TWINKLE.     And  who  marry  Princes  and  Princesses  early  in 

life. 


158  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

TOMMY  (moodily).  We  don't  seem  much  good  at  that  either. 
Well  now  —  that  old  woman  yesterday. 

PINKIE.     Yes.     Wasn't  she  horrid? 

TOMMY  (to  the  Fairies).  You  know  you  can  see  down  the  road 
out  of  the  schoolroom  window?  (Fairies  nod)  Well,  while 
we  were  having  our  dinner  I  saw  an  old,  old  woman  all  in 
black  sitting  on  the  mile-stone  at  our  gate.  Of  course,  I 
thought  she  was  a  Fairy  in  disguise. 

PINKIE.     Well,  you  would,  wouldn't  you? 

TOMMY.  So  I  did  the  proper  thing.  I  took  a  plate  of  semo- 
lina pudding  and  went  out  and  said:  "Here,  good  mother, 
'tis  all  I  have"  (which  wasn't  quite  true,  but  I  couldn't 
take  the  cold  boiled  beef),  and  then  I  said:  "Your  need  is 
greater  than  mine"  ('cos  I'd  had  my  dinner,  you  see),  and 
I  slapped  down  the  semolina  pudding  in  her  lap.  And  what 
do  you  think?  She  was  as  cross  as  cross!  And  she  said  that 
her  name  was  Lady  Fitz-Arquebus  of  the  Mount,  and  when  I 
said,  "O,  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  thought  you  were  the  Fairy 
Queen,"  she  rang  the  bell  and  complained. 

PICKLE.     Dear  me,  how  irregular! 

TWINKLE.     Quite  out  of  order. 

PINKIE.  I  know.  Those  things  never  turn  out  right.  Ann 
was  very  cross  and  disagreeable  at  tea,  so  I  muttered  strange 
words  over  the  milk- jug  and  then  scattered  some  drops 
over  her,  saying,  "Quit  thy  present  form  and  assume  that 
of  a  three-legged,  cross-eyed  cow."  But  she  didn't.  I 
couldn't  help  feeling  rather  glad  she  hadn't,  for  I  don't 
know  how  I  should  have  got  her  down-stairs. 

TOMMY.  P'raps  your  strange  words  were  wrong.  What  did 
you  say? 

PINKIE.  Something  I  heard  the  sweep  say.  I'm  sure  it  was 
all  right  —  it  was  perfectly  awful.  But  Fairy  Pickle,  dear, 
do  tell  us  —  how  do  you  change  Gentlemen  into  Beasts  and 
Ladies  into  Cats? 

PICKLE.  Well,  Pinkie  —  we  usually  wait  and  let  them  de- 
velop in  the  natural  way. 

PINKIE.     Develop? 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  159 

PICKLE.     Do  you  mean  to  say  you  have  never  met  a  man  who 

was  a  beast,  or  a  woman  who  was  a  cat? 

PINKIE.     Yes,  of  course,  but 

PICKLE.     Very  well  then. 

[Molly,  who  has  been  watching  from  the  window  during  the 

last  few  speeches,  now  comes  out. 
TOMMY.     Here's  Molly  again. 

[The  Fairies  scuttle  away  like  rabbits.     Pickle  swings  again 

up  into  the  tree. 
MOLLY  (coming  down  from  the  terrace).     Tommy,  here's  that 

telegram.     Didn't  you  say  Mr. Somebody 

TOMMY.     Mr.  Irons,  the  gardener?     He'll  take  it  —  he's  just 

going  home. 

MOLLY.     He  won't  forget  it,  will  he?     It's  very  important. 
TOMMY.     Not  he. 

MOLLY  (hesitating).     Tommy  —  there  are  no  other  little  boys 
~  or  girls  here,  are  there? 
TOMMY.     None  besides  us.     Why? 
MOLLY.     Because  —  it  was  queer  —  but  when  I  looked  out  of 

the  window  just  now  I  thought  I  saw  three  other  children 

playing  with  you  —  little  children  dressed  in  green. 
PINKIE.     You  saw  them? 
MOLLY.     I  thought  I  saw  them  —  and  yet  I  felt  that  perhaps 

I  was  seeing  them  in  my  head. 

PINKIE.     Yes,  that's  how  you  do  see  the 

MOLLY.     The  what? 

PICKLE    (dropping  from  the    tree).      The    Fairies,    of    course! 

(Twinkle  and  Whisper  reappear)     It's  all  right,  children.     If 

she  sees,  it's  all  right. 

MOLLY.     Fairies!  But  —  are  you  really  Fairies?  I  thought 

WHISPER.     Thought   there   were   no   such   things.     Ah,   that 

comes  of  living  in  town. 
TWINKLE.     And  wearing  your  hair  up. 
PICKLE.     And   your   skirts   down.     Ah,    how   often   the   last 

Fairy  goes  with  the  last  tuck! 
MOLLY.     But  do  I  see  you  now  just  because  I've  come  into  the 

country? 


160 


A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 


PICKLE.     Not  altogether.     (Suddenly)     You're  rather  happy, 

aren't  you? 

MOLLY  (shyly).     Rather. 
PICKLE.     Telegrams  and  things  —  eh? 
MOLLY.     Ye  —  es. 
PICKLE.     More  ways   than  one   lead   to   Fairyland.     You've 

taken  a  short  cut. 
WHISPER.     But  town  life  is  certainly  against  you.     What  a 

place! 

MOLLY.     Oh,  I  don't  know.     The  shops 

TWINKLE.     The  shops!     Why,  could  you  buy  a  Seven-leagued- 

Boot  in  Bond  Street  or  a  Sword  of  Sharpness  in  St.  James's? 
THE  THREE  FAIRIES.     Shops  indeed! 


PICKLE. 


TWINKLE. 


SONG 

In  the  shops  of  London  Town, 
Though  you  range  it  up  and  down, 
Fairy  Gifts  are  seldom  found; 
Horns  of  Elfland  all  are  -drowned 

By  the  motors'  hoots. 
Wishing  Caps  are  out,  they  say, 
Cloaks  of  Darkness  demodes; 
Cobblers  there  would  only  lose 
Stocking  Cinderella's  Shoes, 

Making  Puss's  Boots. 

In  the  shops  of  London  Town 
Fairy  Goods  are  going  down. 
One  alone  retains  its  status, 
That's  the  Purse  of  Fortunatus, 

Always  full  of  Gold. 
And  for  this  there's  such  demand, 
Very  few  remain  on  hand; 
So,  despite  its  fascination, 
Half  the  stock  is  imitation  — 

So  at  least  I'm  told. 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  161 

WHISPER. 

But  the  shops  in  fields  and  woods 
Still  are  selling  Fairy  Goods. 
Underneath  the  Singing  Tree 
You  may  traffic  merrily 

With  the  Elfin  Band; 
While  the  Golden  Water  flows, 
Sunbeam-dappled  as  it  goes, 
And  the  Talking  Bird  of  Blue 
Tells  his  tales  the  summer  through, 

Tales  of  Fairyland. 

[The  three  Fairies  dance  round  Molly,  Pinkie,  and  Tommy, 

singing  together. 
FAIRIES.     Underneath  the  Singing  Tree,  etc. 

[Mr.  Irons  passes  along  the  path  to  the  gate. 
TOMMY.     There  goes  Mr.  Irons.     Good-night,  Mr.  Irons! 

[Mr.  Irons  touches  his  cap. 
MJDLLY.     O  Tommy,  the  telegram! 

TOMMY.     Lucky  you  thought  of  it !     Mr.  Irons  —  wait  a  min- 
ute.    (To  Molly)     It  will  be  sixpence,  won't  it? 

MOLLY.     And  I  haven't  a  penny.     Tommy  dear ? 

TOMMY.     More  have  I. 

PINKIE.     Tommy  —  in  my  blue  china  pig  —  Aunt  Imogen's 

Curate  Fund  —  you  get  it  out  with  a  hairpin Quick! 

[Tommy  abstracts  hairpin  from  Molly,  and  dashes  into  the 

house.    Pinkie  goes  up  and  waits  on  terrace. 
PICKLE  (politely  to  Molly).    You  are  not  thinking  of  making 

a  long  stay,  I  believe. 

MOLLY  (startled).     I  —  er  —  what  do  you  mean? 
PICKLE.     Merely  a  flying  visit  —  eh? 
MOLLY  (indignantly).     You  read  my  telegram! 
PICKLE.     I  wrote  your  telegram. 
MOLLY.     Wrote  it. 
PICKLE.    Yes.  You  were  going  to  put  "Waterloo,  two-thirty." 

MOLLY.     So  I  was.     But  then  I  thought 

PICKLE.     Then  7  suggested 


162  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

MOLLY.     No  —  did    you    really?     Was    that    your    idea?     Of 

course  the  other  plan  was  silly.     Enquiries  at  the  station 

and 

PICKLE  (nodding).    Yes,  I  know. 

[Re-enter  Tommy  from  the  house. 
TOMMY.     Got  it!    Will  you  send  that  as  you  pass  the  office, 

Mr.  Irons?     Good-night. 

[Exit  Mr.  Irons  by  the  gate  with  telegram.     Tommy  and  Pinkie 

stroll  down. 

MOLLY  (to  Pickle).     Thank  you  very  much. 
PICKLE.     Don't  mention  it.     But  as  you  leave  so  soon  we  must 

do  our  best  for  you  while  you  are  here.     You  happen  to  be 

rather  in  luck.     Do  you  know  what  to-day  is? 
MOLLY.    Tuesday. 
PICKLE.     Day  of  the  month,  I  mean. 

[Uncle  Gregory  drops  his  paper  with  a  rustle,   then  snores 

gently. 

MOLLY.    O  —  how  he  made  me  jump ! 
PINKIE.     We  can  see  what  to-day  is  in  his  paper. 

[They  pick  up  paper. 
MOLLY.    Thirtieth  of  April. 
WHISPER.    That's  what  you  call  it,  I  suppose. 
MOLLY.     What  do  you  call  it? 
THE  THREE  FAIRIES  (speaking  together  solemnly).    The  Eve  of 

May. 

PICKLE.     It's  the  Great  Night! 
WHISPER.    The  Night  of  Power! 
TWINKLE.     You'll  see! 
TOMMY.     We  sha'n't  see  much  if  it's  at  night  —  we  shall  be 

in  bed. 

TWINKLE.     But  you  can  get  out  of  bed. 
TOMMY.     Can  we?    How  about  Ann? 
PINKIE.    And  Aunt  Caroline? 
PICKLE.    Fairy  Queen  always  makes   arrangements  for  her 

Guests.     Whoever  is  invited  to  the   Fairy   Party   in  the 

Wood  to-night  will  find  the  way  open  before  him  and  close 

behind  him. 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  163 

TOMMY.     What's  the  good  of  its  closing  behind  him? 

TWINKLE.     Why,  you  don't  want  Ann  and  Aunt  Caroline  after 

you,  do  you? 

PINKIE.     But  we  are  not  invited  to  the  Fairy  Party. 
PICKLE.     I'll  tell  you  a  secret.     You  will  all  be  invited  —  all 

three  of  you.     I'm  expecting  the  Deputation  every  minute. 
MOLLY.     The  Deputation? 
WHISPEB.     With  the  Invitation  Cards. 
PINKIE.     But  —  a  deputation.     Who  is  it  deputating  to? 
PICKLE.     Well,  do  you  suppose  it  is  to  Uncle  Gregory? 
PINKIE  (suddenly  enlightened) .     O,  it's  to  me !     To  me !     But  I 

can't  receive  a  deputation  like  this.     (Tears  off  her  pinafore) 

O  Whisper,  help  me.     Twinkle! 

[The  Elves  help  her  to  make  a  toilette.  Tommy  assisting.     The 

gardener's  apron  serves  as  train. 

MOLLY  (to  Pickle) .    How  queer  it  all  is.     I  don't  understand 

PICKLE.     Don't  try.     You're  under  the  sun  at  present,  but 

look  —  the  shadows  creep  higher  and  higher,  and  the  wind 

is  blowing  from  the  Mountains  of  the  Moon.     Under  the 

moon,  it's  all  different. 
MOLLY.     Why? 
PICKLE.     Come,   you  ought  to  know  something  of  it.      What 

about  Upper  Mastodon  Terrace,  West  Kensington  —  under 

the  moon? 
MOLLY.    Ah !    Yes  —  lovely ! 

SONG 

Under  the  Sun 
MOLLY. 

Under  the  Sun  the  road  lies  straight, 

Dusty,  gusty,  arid  and  grey, 
Leading  us  out  by  the  usual  gate, 

Just  in  the  usual  way* 
Down  to  the  grocer  a  bill  to  pay, 

Or  to  buy  from  the  baker  a  bun  — 
Ah,  Work-a-day  World  of  the  Everyday, 
Under  the  Sun! 


164  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

Under  the  Moon  the  pathway  fades, 

Dreamy,  gleamy,  into  the  night. 
Chimney-pots  tower  dark  cypress  glades, 

In  the  puddles  the  stars  are  white. 
Drowned  in  a  dream  of  sweet  delight, 

They  lie  in  a  mystic  swoon  — 
Ah,  wonderful  world  for  a  Fancy-flight, 
Under  the  Moon! 

[During  Molly's  song  daylight  slowly  begins  to  fade  and  turn 
golden.  A  long  shaft  of  yellow  radiance  strikes  into  the  dim- 
ness of  the  wood,  turning  the  tree  stems  to  gold.  Pinkie  comes 
down  trailing  her  apron  train. 

PINKIE.  There!  Now  I  think  I'm  prepared  to  receive  a 
Deputation. 

TOMMY.     You  look  prepared  to  receive  Cavalry. 

PINKIE.  Well,  I've  never  received  anything  before,  you  see, 
so  I  can't  be  sure  of  the  right  way.  Besides,  Aunt  Caro- 
line says  you  should  not  make  distinctions:  you  should 
receive  a  Deputation  as  you  would  receive  a  —  a  Drome- 
dary. 

MOLLY.     But  one  never  does  receive  Dromedaries. 

TOMMY.     How  beastly  snobbish!     Why  not? 

WHISPER.     Hark!     What's  that? 

TWINKLE.      Music ! 

PICKLE.  It's  the  Deputation!  Now  then,  Pinkie,  you  are  the 
Person  of  Importance  and  stand  here.  (Placing  her.  To 
Tommy)  You're  the  Guard  of  Honour  attending  her. 

MOLLY.     And  what  are  we? 

PICKLE.     We're  the  excited  Populace.     Hooray! 

MOLLY,    WHISPER,    AND   TWINKLE.      Hooray! 

[Fairy  music  to  the  rhythm  of  a  march,  high,  piping,  and  tremu- 
lous, begins  to  sound  and  continues  throughout  this  scene.  Out 
of  the  heart  of  the  golden  glow,  among  the  shadows  of  the  wood, 
a  little  procession  advances.  A  Herald  walks  first,  bearing  a 
scroll.  Behind  him  follows  a  string  of  tiny,  green-clad  Fairies, 
blowing  shrill  music  from  flower-trumpets.  A  few  Frogs  walk 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  165 

among  them  and  two  red  Squirrels.     The  Procession  circles  the 
stage  and  halts  before  Pinkie. 
HERALD  (unfolding  his  scroll). 

These,  with  all  greetings  from  her  Majesty 
To  Pinkie,  Molly,  Tommy,  severally. 
[Reading. 

"From  Wild  Wood  Bower.     The  Fairy  Queen, 
At  Home,  with  dancing  on  the  green, 
To-night  at  moon-rise  punctually. 
R.  S.  V.  P." 

PINKIE  (through  music).     What  does  that  mean? 

MOLLY.     Repondez  s'il  vous  plait. 

PINKIE  (turning   shy).     You'd   better   speak.      I   don't   know 

what  to  say. 
MOLLY  (through  music). 

At  rhyming  I'm  not  an  adept, 

But  I'll  venture  this  short  observation: 

We  all  very  gladly  accept 

The  Fairy  Queen's  kind  invitation. 
PINKIE. 

Respectfulest  comps  from  all  three. 

Signed  —  Tommy  and  Molly  and  Me. 

[The  Herald  bows  low.  Pickle,  Whisper  and  Twinkle  again 
cry  "Hooray!"  and  the  Procession  again  circles  the  stage  and 
disappears  into  the  wood.  As  it  vanishes  the  dainty  Elfin 
music  is  gradually  engulfed  in  the  growing  strains  of  the 
Grown-ups9  Processional  Chant,  which  —  to  any  intelligent  stu- 
dent of  Grand  Opera  —  suggests  the  presence  of  the  Aunts. 
As  the  last  Fairy  of  the  Deputation  passes  away  into  the  shadows, 
Aunts  Caroline  and  Imogen  appear  on  the  terrace  laden  with 
work-bags  and  solemnly  descend  into  the  garden. 

CAROLINE.     On  each  passing  moment  we 

IMOGEN.     Leave  our  traces  —  leave  our  traces. 

CAROLINE.     Either  Art  Embroideree 

IMOGEN  (joyously).     Curates'  braces!     Curates'  braces! 


166  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

CAROLINE.     Or,  when  silken  dalliance  cloys, 
IMOGEN.     Rosebud  clusters  —  rosebud  clusters. 

CAROLINE.     We  recapture  sterner  joys 

IMOGEN.     Hemming  dusters!     Hemming  dusters! 

TOGETHER. 

East  and  North  and  South  and  West, 
Ardent  trippers,  ardent  trippers, 

Still  our  Clergy  all  attest 

"Britain's  daughters  work  the  best 
Carpet  slippers!     Carpet  slippers! 

[The  two  seat  themselves  on  either  side  of  Uncle  Gregory.  Molly 
still  gazes  spellbound  after  the  Fairies. 

PICKLE  (to  the  Children).  To-night,  then  —  at  moonrise  —  in 
the  wood. 

PINKIE.  Yes!  Yes!  And  what  ought  we  to  wear?  Our 
bests? 

PICKLE.  Visitors  from  under  the  Sun  often  come  in  night- 
gowns, but  these  are  thought  a  little  old-fashioned. 

TOMMY.  Ah,  and  those  people  wake  up  and  find  it  is  all  a 
dream  —  I  know. 

PINKIE.  And  you  can't  have  a  really  nice  party  in  a  dream. 
It  gets  so  mixed.  I  gave  one  a  few  nights  ago  and  —  and 
Camels  came  to  it  —  and  Dustmen  —  and  one  of  Aunt 
Imogen's  Curates. 

WHISPER.  Dear  me !  I  don't  wonder  you  considered  it  mixed ! 
Ah,  the  Fairy  Queen's  party  on  May  Eve  is  a  very  different 
affair. 

TWINKLE.  You  had  better  come  as  you  are,  I  think.  We  can 
smarten  you  all  up  a  bit  when  you  arrive. 

PICKLE.  And  remember  this.  You  must  each  come  alone. 
You  may  meet  all  your  friends  in  Fairyland,  but  you  must 
always  get  there  by  yourself.  Come  each  alone,  and  by  dif- 
ferent ways. 

MOLLY.     Alone ! 

PINKIE.     By  myself? 

TOMMY.     In  the  dark? 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  167 

WHISPER.     Of  course  you  need  not  come  unless  you  like. 

THE  THREE.     0,  we  will  —  we  will  —  we  want  to ! 

PICKLE.     To-night,  then. 

PINKIE.     At  moonrise. 

MOLLY.     In  the  wood. 

PICKLE.  And  to-night  is  very  near.  See  the  tired  shadows 
stretching  themselves  as  they  lie  full-length  along  the  grass, 
and  the  little  white  dew  men  washing  the  trees  and  flowers 
and  getting  them  ready  for  sleep.  Soon  will  come  the  Fairy 
Folk,  scattering  the  world  with  roses,  while  the  sleepy  Sun 
blushes  and  blinks  himself  to  bed  in  the  Gardens  of  the 

West.     And  then 

[Lays  finger  on  lips  and  steals  out. 

WHISPER.     And  then 

[Creeps  out,  finger  on  lips. 

TWINKLE.     And  then 

[Steals  out,  finger  on  lips.  The  Grown-ups,  who  have  been  talk- 
ing in  low  tones,  become  excited  and  audible. 

GREGORY  (thumping  his  paper).  Now  I  just  ask  you,  Caroline, 
what  would  become  of  us  if  the  Army  and  Navy  were 
abolished? 

TOMMY  (to  Pinkie).     What  would? 

PINKIE.  I  don't  see  that  it  would  make  much  difference  to  us. 
We  get  everything  from  Harrod's. 

CAROLINE  (suddenly  realising  Pinkie's  trailing  apron).  Come 
here,  Elenour.  What  is  that  extraordinary  arrangement 
that  you  have  tied  round  your  waist? 

PINKIE.     That?  —  O (Trying  to  tear  off  apron) That 

was  a  little  idea  of  my  own,  Aunt  Caroline,  to  keep  my  clean 
frock  from  the  damp  grass.  You  see  —  you  sit  down  —  so 
—  and  there  you  are.  [Illustrates. 

CAROLINE.     I  see.     Really  rather  thoughtful  of  the  child. 
[The  Grown-ups  resume  their  conversation. 

TOMMY  (in  admiration).  I  say,  Pinkie!  That  was  a  Buster  if 
you  like! 

PINKIE.  I  don't  see  that  it  was  exactly  a  Buster.  It  does 
keep  my  frock  clean.  Look! 


168  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

[Sits  down  violently.     The  voices  of  the  Grown-ups  again  rise. 
IMOGEN.     Yes,  I  should  always  encourage  Patriotism  —  with- 
out it,  where  should  we  be? 
CAROLINE.     What    precisely    do    you    mean    by    Patriotism, 

Imogen? 
GREGORY  (with  a  sniff).     The  love  of  somebody  else's  country 

and  the  very  natural  wish  to  acquire  it. 
BOTH  AUNTS.     Gregory! 

[They  turn  upon  him.    All  talk  at  once.     Soft  music  sounds 

and  the  golden  glow  of  the  late  afternoon  sunshine  flushes  to 

rose.     Out  of  the  shadows  steal  Fairies  robed  in  rose  colour. 

More  and  more  appear  from  all  sides,  pacing  rhythmically  and 

filling  the  garden  with  sunset  glory. 
MOLLY  (listening  absently  to  the  Grown-ups).     Does  it  not  seem 

as  if  they  were  talking  either  a  long  way  off  or  a  long  time 

ago? 
PINKIE.     Yes.     That's    'cos    we've    been    with    the    Fairies. 

Grown-ups  and  every-day  things  always  seem  like  that  for 

a  bit  afterwards. 
MOLLY  (looking  round).     O!    Listen!     Look!  —  The  Music  — 

the  rose-red  dancers! 
PINKIE.     Those  are  the  Sunset   Fairies.    They  sing  the  day 

to  sleep  every  evening. 
CAROLINE  (with  condescension).     Quite  a  remarkable  effect  of 

light  this  evening,  Imogen. 
IMOGEN  (with  culture).    Ah,  but  don't  you  find  that  Turner 

spoils  one  for  sunsets?     Venice,    you  know  —  its  cloud-like 

palaces  —  its  campanili  like  aspiring  flames!     So  fairy-like! 

Here  I  find  no  poetry,  no  suggestion. 

CAROLINE  (slightly  crushed).     Ah,  yes  —  Turner,  of  course! 
PINKIE.     What's  Turner? 
TOMMY.    I  don't  know.     But  that's  how  they  always  go  on 

when  the  Fairies  sing  the  Sunset  Song. 
PINKIE.     And  the  Fairies  don't  seem  to  mind  a  bit,  poor  dears. 

They'll  sing  it  to  them  all  over  again  to-morrow.     Look  how 

they  try  to  make  them  hear. 
MOLLY.     O  hush  —  it's  beginning! 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies 


169 


[As  the  Song  of  Sunset  begins,  the  rose-clad  Fairies  dance 
through  the  garden,  waving  their  gauzy  garments.  Pickle, 
Whisper  and  Twinkle  stand,  rose-robed,  each  by  a  Grown-up, 
and  softly  sing  their  songs.  The  Aunts  work  on  unheeding; 
Gregory  still  reads  his  paper. 


PICKLE. 


WHISPER, 


TWINKLE. 


PICKLE. 


CHORUS. 


FINALE 

The  Song  of  Sunset 

Day  was  born  a  springing  lark, 
Day  must  die  a  nightingale. 

Day  arose  a  kindled  spark, 
Now  he  flames  on  hill  and  dale. 

Heap  the  incense  higher  still 
Till  his  pyre  an  altar  grows; 

Day  was  born  a  Daffodil, 
Day  dies  a  Rose. 

Nightingale,  with  softest  trill 
Lull  him  to  his  long  repose, 
To  his  rest  beyond  the  hill; 
Day  was  born  a  Daffodil, 
Day  dies  a  Rose. 

[A  bell  rings.     The  Grown-ups  spring  excitedly  to  their  feet. 

CAROLINE. 

Hark!    Hark!     The  Note, 

The  Warning  Bell 
From  brazen  throat 

Pours  forth  its  knell. 

Though  suns  decline, 

Though  night  clouds  lower, 
We  dine !     We  dine ! 

Within  the  hour! 


170  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

IMOGEN. 

Seek  we  our  bowers,  the  festal  robes  indue! 
The  elders  proud  in  purple,  brave  in  blue; 
But  for  the  young,  lest  envious  tongues  be  rife, 
The  plain  book-muslin  of  a  blameless  life ! 

GREGORY  (solemnly  advancing). 

A  simple  coat 

Of  velveteen. 
About  my  throat 

A  collar  clean! 
Though  incorrect 

In  Town,  unless 
Our  guests  object,     , 

I  do  not  dress. 
THE  AUNTS  (aside). 

'Twere  all  in  vain 

To  chide.     Unless 
We  entertain 

He  does  not  dress! 

[The  dance  of  the  Sunset  Fairies  sweeps  forward,  blotting  out 
the  figures  of  the  Grown-ups. 
FAIRIES. 

Nightingale,  with  softest  trill, 
Lull  him,  lull  him  to  repose, 
To  his  rest  beyond  the  hill; 
Day  was  born  a  Daffodil, 
Day  dies  a  Rose. 

[The  Grown-ups  again  emerge  from  the  dancing  cloud  of  rose 
colour. 

GREGORY. 

A  simple  coat 
Of  velveteen! 

IMOGEN. 

A  purple  note 
In  crepe  de  chine! 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  171 

CAROLINE. 

High  to  the  throat, 
Black  bombazeen  — 

THE   THREE. 

We  go  to  don, 
To  meet  anon 
When  dusk  is  on 
The  Soup  Tureen! 

[They  disappear  finally  among  the  dancing  Fairies.  Pinkie, 
Molly  and  Tommy,  clasping  hands,  sing  softly  together. 

PINKIE,   MOLLY  AND  TOMMY. 

Bid  the  day  good-bye. 

Whisper  low. 
Sing  him  Lullabye, 

Sweet  and  slow. 
Weary  eye  must  close, 

Fleet  foot  stay. 
Day's  a  faded  Rose; 

Good-night,  Day! 

[They  are  lost  in  the  fairy  crowd.  Rose-clad  Fairies,  lining  the 
terrace,  raise  great  branches  of  pink  apple-blossom.  The  sunset 
glow  deepens. 

PICKLE. 

Day  arose  with  roundelay, 

Now  to  rest  with  lullabye; 
WHISPER. 

Cradle- wrapped  in  modest  grey 

In  a  purple  pomp  to  die. 

TWINKLE. 

Day  awoke  a  tiny  rill, 

Now  a  flood  of  fire  he  flows; 
PICKLE. 

Day  was  born  a  Daffodil, 

Day  dies  a  Rose. 


172          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

FULL  CHORUS. 

Shadow  fingers,  cool  and  grey, 
Draw  the  curtains  of  his  bed. 
Falling  roses, 
Fading  fires, 
Cooling  embers, 
Sinking  pyres! 
Day  is  turned  to  Yesterday. 
Dear  day  is  dead. 

[The  Fairies  shake  their  apple  boughs  till  the  air  is  thick  with 
flying  petals.  The  whole  stage  glows  with  ever  deepening 
rose  colour  into  which,  during  the  last  chorus,  creeps  a  cold 
blue,  turning  rose  to  amethyst.  As  the  garden  gradually  fills 
with  violet  twilight  the  curtain  falls. 

ACT  II 
NIGHT  IN  THE  WOOD 

After  a  short  Prelude  the  curtain  rises  upon  almost  complete 
darkness.  Here  and  there  a  pale  blur  of  night  sky  shows  through 
clustering  boughs  sparsely  clad  with  spring  leafage.  The  Prelude 
develops  into  a  rocking  lullaby,  and  a  dim  light,  glancing  down- 
wards, falls  upon  the  Elf  Pickle  sitting  up  with  a  wakeful  Daffodil. 

SONG 

Daffadowndilly 

PICKLE. 

Daffadowndilly  is  sad  to-night, 

Heigh  Ho,  Daffadowndilly! 
Sad  for  the  sun  and  his  golden  light, 
For  the  moon  is  pale  and  the  stars  are  white 

And  the  kiss  of  the  dew  falls  chilly 
Daffadowndilly  is  nodding  his  head, 
Shedding  a  tear  as  he  turns  to  his  bed. 
Heigh  Ho! 
Night  winds  blow 

Over  my  Daffadowndilly. 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  173 

Daffadowndilly,  the  day  will  rise, 

Peep  Bo,  Daffadowndilly! 
Lighting  his  lamp  in  the  eastern  skies, 
Fighting  the  slumber  from  drowsy-droop  eyes, 

Warming  my  Lenten  Lily. 
Daffadowndilly  in  robe  of  gold 
King  of  the  meadow  his  court  will  hold. 
Peep  Bo! 
Sunbeams  glow, 

Waking  my  Daffadowndilly. 

[The  light  fades,  and  Pickle  and  the  wakeful  Daffodil  vanish. 

Pinkie's  voice  calls. 
PINKIE.     Tommy ! 

[Enter  Pinkie,  a  little  dim  blot  on  the  darkness. 
TOMMY  (without).     Yes! 
PINKIE.     Where  are  you? 
TOMMY  (without).    Here! 
PINKIE.     So  am  I. 

[Enter  Tommy,  feeling  his  way. 
TOMMY.     Where? 
PINKIE.    Here.     Molly! 
MOLLY  (without).     Yes! 
TOMMY.     Where  are  you? 
MOLLY  (without).     Here. 

[Enter  Molly  cautiously. 
PINKIE.     No,  you  aren't.    Tm  here. 
TOMMY.     So  am  I. 
PINKIE.    No,  you  —  0,  I've  got  somebody  —  Tommy!    Now 

Molly,  where  are  you? 
MOLLY  (annoyed).     Here,  I  tell  you. 

PINKIE.     But  you  aren't.  Tommy  and  I  are  here.  O!  is  that  you? 
MOLLY.     I  think  so.     Feel  me.     How  dreadfully  dark  it  is! 

Which  way  did  you  come? 
PINKIE.     Through  the  field,  very  softly,  very  softly,  for  the 

daisies  were  all  asleep.     And  the  old,  old  donkey  stood  with 

his  head  over  the  gate,  listening  with  his  long,  long  ears. 


174          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

His  ears  are  so  long  that  he  hears  the  stars  shining  and  the 

grass  growing  and  the  Day  after  To-morrow  coming. 
MOLLY.     That's  a  terrible  thing. 
PINKIE.     No.     Why? 
TOMMY.     I  came  through  the  yard.     The  loft  door  was  open 

and  the  little  angel-mice  were  flying  in  and  out. 
MOLLY.     Angel-mice? 
TOMMY.     Yes  —  mice  with  wings. 

MOLLY.     O  —  bats.     You  call  them  angel-mice?     How  stupid! 
TOMMY.     No.     Why? 
MOLLY.     I  came  through  the  garden  where  all  the  flowers  were 

wet  with  dew,  and  a  violet  looked  at  me  with  a  big  tear  in 

her  blue  eye.     I  think  she  loved  a  celandine  and  he  was  not 

allowed  in  the  garden.     She  looked  so  sad  that  I  kissed  her. 
PINKIE.     That  was  silly. 
MOLLY.    No  —  why? 

[A  pause. 
PINKIE.    How  still  it  is.     And  how  the  stream  talks.     All  the 

Water  Fairies  are  coming  to  the  Party  —  there  will  be  none 

left  to  turn  Miller  Dobson's  wheel. 
TOMMY.     Are  we  too  early?     No  one  has  come  yet. 
PINKIE.     I  think  they  are  all  here.     Can't  you  feel  how  full 

the  darkness  is? 

MOLLY.     Is  that  why  you  are  speaking  so  softly? 
PINKIE.    Am  I?    So  are  you. 
MOLLY.    Am  I? 
TOMMY.     Listen. 
PINKIE.     The  nightingales!     That's  how  it  all  begins.     Listen. 

[Soft  music  sounds,  and  two  voices  drop  down  through  the 

darkness. 

DUET 

The  Nightingales 
IST  VOICE. 

Fairies  wake 

Through  the  night 
Till  the  light 
Break. 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies 


175 


1ST  VOICE. 


2ND   VOICE. 


2ND   VOICE. 

Where  their  gates 
Fall  ajar 
One  pale  star 
Waits. 

Dim  with  dew 
One  pale  star 
In  the  far 
Blue 

Waits  and  weeps 
While  a  fair 
Elf-Girl  there 
Sleeps. 

Though  he  call 
Naught  she  hears. 
Starry  tears 
Fall. 

Through  and  through 
Flowers  athirst 
Drink  May's  first 
Dew. 

MOLLY  (dreamily).     "Flowers    athirst  —  drink   May's   first  — 

dew." 

TOMMY.     What  did  you  say,  Molly? 
MOLLY.     Nothing  —  but  —  there  almost  seemed  words  in  the 

nightingale's  song. 

PINKIE.     Molly!     Didn't  you  hear  the  words? 
MOLLY.     Yes,  I  did.     But  I  thought  that  perhaps  I  didn't. 
TOMMY.     Ah,  you  are  almost  Grown-up,  you  see.     Come  on. 
PINKIE.     Yes,  come  on. 
MOLLY.    Where  to?    It's   so   dark   in  here  —  I'm   afraid  of 

treading  on  a  frog! 
TOMMY.     O,  the  frogs  take  care  of  themselves! 


BOTH  VOICES. 


176          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

MANY  VOICES.  Ach,  ach,  ach!  The  frogs  take  care  of  them- 
selves. 

[Again  the  dim  light  strikes  down  and  the  three  are  seen  in  the 
midst  of  a  circle  of  Frogs. 

MOLLY.    Ah!! 

PINKIE.  Don't,  Molly.  It's  rude.  The  frogs  are  the  begin- 
ning of  the  Party. 

THE  FROGS.  Ach,  ach,  ach!  The  frogs  are  the  beginning  of 
the  Party. 

PINKIE.  Never  mind,  O  froggly  frogs.  She  doesn't  mean  to  be 
rude,  but  she's  getting  Grown-up,  poor  dear. 

IST  FROG.  Ah,  it's  the  same  way  with  us.  As  babies  we  are 
all  intellect,  but  as  our  legs  grow  our  heads  don't,  and  we 
end  up  as  very  ordinary  creatures  —  O,  very  ordinary 
indeed. 

PINKIE  (politely).    O,  you  shouldn't  say  that. 

IST  FROG.     Fact,  I  assure  you. 

[Elves  Pickle,  Whisper  and  Twinkle  run  in. 

PICKLE.  O  froggly  frogs,  are  you  ready  for  the  Party?  We 
have  come  to  tie  your  white  ties  for  you. 

FROGS.     Ach,  ach,  ach!    Tie  our  white  ties  for  us! 
[The  Elves  tie  bows  for  the  Frogs. 

PINKIE  (clapping  her  hands).  Now  it's  all  beginning!  The 
Party's  beginning! 

PICKLE.  Yes,  it's  beginning  now.  So  pleased  to  see  you  — 
and  Tommy  —  and  your  —  er  —  your  elderly  friend. 

MOLLY  (stiffly).     How  do  you  do?     So  kind  to  ask  me. 

PICKLE  (gravely).  How  do  you  do?  Will  you  know  us  when 
we  next  meet,  I  wonder? 

MOLLY.  Why,  of  course  —  at  least  —  I  don't  know.  It's  all 
so  strange.  I  see  you,  and  yet  I  know  you  are  only  a  green 
starbeam  and  your  words  are  the  echoes  of  the  wood. 

PICKLE.  Ah!  (Aside  to  Twinkle)  The  girl  will  cut  us  dead 
to-morrow,  Party  or  no  Party. 

WHISPER  (suddenly).     Ladies'  Cloak  Room  to  the  left,  please. 

PINKIE.     But  we  haven't  got  any  cloaks. 

TWINKLE.     No,  we've  got  cloaks  for  you.    You  don't  call  that 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  177 

a  dress  for  a  Fairy  Party,  do  you? 

[Pinkie  retires,  also  Tommy. 
PICKLE  (slyly  to  Molly).    Is  that  the  sort  of  thing  young  girls 

are  wearing  in  Town  just  now? 
MOLLY  (with  a  jump).    Did  you  hear  Aunt  say  that?    Wasn't 

it  horrid  of  her? 
PICKLE.     Yes.  I  heard  her.    She  got  one  of  her  twinges  of 

rheumatism  directly  after.     I  saw  to  that. 
THE  FROGS  (skipping  round). 

Ach,  ach,  ach! 

Frog  in  the  throat  you  often  meet 
With  rheumatiz  in  the  legs  and  feet 

Or  the  back  back  back! 

[Re-enter  Pinkie  and  Tommy  in  Fairy  raiment. 
PINKIE.     O  look  at  me!    Look  at  me!    Did  you  ever  see  —  O 

Tommy !    How  lovely ! 
TOMMY  (delighted  with  himself).     Silly  rot,  I  call  it.     Men  don't 

care  for  this  sort  of  thing.     (To  Whisper)     You  haven't  got 

a  looking-glass  anywhere,  have  you? 
PINKIE.    And  now  for  Molly.     (Twinkle  puts  on  Molly's  Fairy 

Cloak)    O  Molly,  you're  splendid!    Splendid!    Just  like  a 

Princess  out  of  a  Fairy  Tale! 
TWINKLE.    But  she's  in  the  Fairy  Tale. 
PINKIE.     Well,  she  looks  splendid. 
MOLLY.     What  do  you  think  of  me,  Tommy? 
TOMMY  (absently).    Splendid!    Is  mine  all  right  at  the  back? 

You  might  tell  a  fellow. 
FROGS  (playing  leap-frog). 

Ach,  ach,  ach! 

Fairy  Cloak  for  a  Fairy  Guest! 
Frogs  in  chokers  looking  their  best ! 

Make  a  back  back  back! 

PINKIE  (dancing  with  excitement).    Now  —  is  the  Party  really 

begun?    Are  we  at  the  Party  now? 
PICKLE.    The  Party  cannot  begin  until  the  Queen  comes,  and 

the  Queen  cannot  come  before  the  moon  rises. 


178          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

PINKIE.     But  when  will  the  Moon  rise?    When  will  she? 

PICKLE.     Hush.     We  are  going  to  call  her. 

[The  dim  light  dies  down,  leaving  the  stage  almost  dark.  Fairy 
voices  sound  from  all  sides  singing  the  Song  of  Moonrise. 

FAIRY  CHORUS 

The  Rising  of  the  Moon 
SEMI-CHORUS. 

Queen  of  the  twilight  eyes, 
Lady  of  dusk  and  of  dew, 
Come  to  your  kingdom  anew, 

Rise! 

SEMI-CHORUS  (from  above). 

Ruler  of  Destinies, 
Swayer  of  wind  and  of  tide, 
Casting  your  mantle  aside, 
Rise! 

SEMI-CHORUS  (from  below). 

Up  from  the  deep  of  the  skies, 
Shaking  the  stars  from  your  hair, 
Climbing  the  clouds  as  a  stair, 
Rise! 

FULL  CHORUS. 

Mother  of  Mysteries, 
Over  the  seas  of  the  night 
Fare  in  your  shallop  of  light, 
Loved  of  the  Elf  and  the  Fay, 
Sun  of  their  shadowy  day, 
Rise!    Rise! 

[During  the  last  chorus  the  great  disk  of  the  moon  tops  the  rim  of 
a  distant  hill  and  floats  up  the  sky  among  the  tangle  of  branches. 
The  stage  is  seen  to  be  crowded  with  green-robed  Fairies,  who 
stretch  thin  white  arms  towards  the  growing  light. 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  179 

CHORUS. 

Hail!    All  hail  to  our  Lady  pale! 

O  wan  white  Queen  with  the  eyes  of  dew! 

For  ever  you  hear  your  children  dear, 

Your  Fairy  Children  who  cry  to  you. 

None  so  small  but  you  hear  his  call, 

O  mighty  Lady,  tender  and  fair; 

As  over  the  grass  your  light  feet  pass 

The  stars  are  twined  in  your  silver  hair. 

[A  horn  sounds  faintly. 
PICKLE. 

The  Ivory  Gates  unclose!    The  Fairy  Queen 
Draws  near  in  state  to  greet  the  folk  in  green. 
Strike,  music,  that  our  liege  evoken  be 
With  woven  measures  and  with  melody. 
Tread  we  the  dance  with  flutter  of  restless  wings, 
With  paces  rhythmic  and  quaint  posturings! 

[The  Fairies  dance,  singing  the  while. 

THE  DANCING  FAIRIES. 

She  comes  from  the  Western  Garden, 

The  Isle  of  the  Evening  Star 
That  drifts  in  light  through  the  seas  of  night 

Like  a  rose-flushed  nenuphar. 

The  garden  that's  dragon-guarded 

To-day  as  in  days  of  old. 
The  stars  in  her  pathway  fall  and  shoot, 
The  Hesper  Tree  is  dropping  its  fruit, 

Dropping  its  burden  of  gold. 

What  gift  from  the  Queen  of  the  Fairies? 
What  boon  for  this  earth  of  ours? 
What  treasure-hoard  in  that  Garden  stored, 
What  fragrance  of  mystic  flowers? 
The  glint  of  an  Apple  that's  Golden, 
The  scent  of  a  Rose  that's  Blue, 


180  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

And  the  spray  from  the  Fountain  of  Youth  that  clings 
In  May's  first  dew  to  her  whispering  wings, 
These  are  the  gifts  that  our  Lady  brings 
From  the  Land  where  dreams  come  true. 

[During  the  dance  and  song  there  rises  slowly  from  the  earth 
a  lofty  throne  woven  of  golden  lilies.  Upon  it,  still  and  solemn 
like  a  little  idol  of  silver,  sits  the  Queen  of  the  Fairies  robed 
in  silver  tissue,  crowned  with  a  fantastic  coronet  of  dew-span- 
gled flowers,  and  holding  a  heavy  sceptre  of  lilies.  At  the  end 
of  dance  all  the  Fairies  fall  upon  their  knees,  bowing  low  to  the 
ground.  The  Queen  extends  her  sceptre  with  a  gracious  ges- 
ture. Fairies  begin  passing  before  her,  curtseying  and  kissing 
her  hand. 

PICKLE  (to  Pinkie  and  Molly).  Now  for  the  ceremony  of 
Presentation,  and  then  the  fun  can  begin.  (To  Whisper) 
Are  these  the  only  debutantes? 

WHISPER.     Yes.     The  young  frogs  are  not  out  yet. 

PICKLE.     Very  well.     Come  along. 

PINKIE,  MOLLY  AND  TOMMY  (nervously).  But  what  do  we  do? 
Do  we  do  anything? 

PICKLE.     You  just  kiss  hands  and  pass  along.     It's  quite  simple. 
Now  then. 
[Hands  card  to  a  Fairy  Herald  who  stands  by  the  Queen. 

HERALD  (loudly).     Pinkie.     Presented  by  Elf  Pickle. 

[Pinkie  approaches  the  Presence,  curtseys  elaborately,  and 
retires  slowly  backwards. 

PINKIE  (still  backing).     Didn't  I  do  it  well?     Didn't  I 

[Falls  over  a  Frog  and  collapses. 

HERALD.    Tommy.     Presented  by  Elf  Whisper. 
[Tommy  advances  hurriedly. 

TOMMY.     How  de  do? 

[Shakes  hands  violently  with  the  Queen  and  retires. 

HERALD.     Molly.     Presented  by  Elf  Twinkle. 

[Molly  advances,  sinks  in  a  curtsey  and  raises  the  Queen's 
hand  to  her  lips.  The  Queen  retains  her  hand,  looking  gravely 
at  her. 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  181 

THE  QUEEN.  Surely,  my  dear,  you  are  rather  old  to  be  wan- 
dering about  Fairy  Land  by  yourself? 

HERALD.  Everything  is  quite  regular,  your  Majesty.  She  is  in 
the  charge  of  two  very  capable  babies. 

QUEEN.  Ah,  personally  conducted.  Quite  correct.  But  other- 
wise she  would  be  over  age. 

MOLLY.     Over  age,  ma'am. 

QUEEN.  Too  old  for  a  Free  Pass  to  Fairy  Land.  For  children 
under  twelve  admission  is  free. 

MOLLY.     And  after  that? 

QUEEN  (gravely).     After  that  —  you've  got  to  pay. 

MOLLY.     And  —  the  price? 

QUEEN.  Ah  —  there  we  are,  you  see.  That's  not  a  child's 
question.  Change  the  subject. 

MOLLY.  But  surely,  ma'am,  some  quite  grown-up  people  have 
been  to  Fairyland.  Why,  there  was  Kilmeny  —  and  Thomas 
the  Rhymer  —  and 

QUEEN  (very  gravely).  Yes  —  they  paid.  But,  for  the  most 
part,  Grown-ups  come  as  you  came.  Some  of  the  Children's 
Free  Passes  are  for  Self  and  Friend.  Don't  you  understand? 

MOLLY.     I'm  afraid,  ma'am  —  not  quite. 

QUEEN.     Really?    Then  I  will  explain. 

[She  descends  from  her  throne  and  comes  f award. 


SONG 

Babyland  and  Fairyland 

FAIRY   QUEEN. 

Babyland  and  Fairyland 

Lie  so  near  —  so  near  each  other. 

By  the  stretching  of  a  hand 

Is  the  gulf  between  them  spann'd: 

Baby  Sister,  Fairy  Brother 

Meet  and  greet  upon  the  strand. 

Trickles  down  Time's  golden  sand, 
Baby  Hearts  grow  Human  wholly; 


182  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

Close  the  Gates  of  Fairyland 
And  the  veil  is  falling  slowly. 
They  have  lost  their  sprig  of  moly 
And  they  do  not  understand. 

He  who  still  would  loose  the  chain, 
Still  unbar  the  Gates  of  Faerie, 
Needs  must  stoop  and  humbly  deign 
Seek  the  tiny  path  with  pain, 
Tread  the  way  that  does  not  vary. 
Back  through  Babyland  it  lies 
To  the  long-lost  Paradise, 
To  the  Land  of  Youth  again. 

[As  the  Queen  slowly  retires  and  mounts  the  steps  of  her  throne 
the  Fairies  softly  repeat: 

Back  through  Babyland  it  lies, 
Back  to  Childhood's  Paradise, 
To  the  Land  of  Youth  again. 

[The  Queen  raises  her  sceptre  and  speaks. 

QUEEN. 

Now  to  your  elfin  sports,  my  merry  throng, 
Fleeting  the  night  with  banquet  and  with  song. 
For  ever  tread  we,  ere  we  sup  or  sing, 
The  mystic  circles  of  our  Fairy  Ring. 

TOMMY.     No  —  let's  have  the  banquet  first! 

PINKIE  AND  MOLLY.     O  Tommy  —  hush ! 

[The  Frog  and  the  Queen  dance  to  solemn  music. 

TOMMY.  Well,  look  here.  If  there's  much  more  of  this  rotten 
dancing  I  shall  go  home. 

MOLLY.     O  Tommy,  the  elfin  revels. 

TOMMY.  I  don't  see  where  the  revel  comes  in.  Tm  not  revel- 
ling. And  7  could  dance  all  right  if  I  wanted  to.  I've  been 
to  a  class. 

PINKIE.     Yes  —  but  you  never  got  beyond  dumb-bell  exercises 

because 

[A  wild  note  comes  into  the  music  and  the  Queen  calls  shrilly. 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  183 

QUEEN. 

Steady  of  foot  and  strong  of  wing 

Must  the  dancer  come  to  the  Fairy  Ring ! 

[Hand  in  hand  with  the  Frog  she  moves  quickly  round  the  stage. 

FROG. 

Froglets,  froglets!     Follow  your  king! 
For  all  must  dance  in  the  Fairy  Ring. 
CHORUS. 

Yes,  all  must  dance  in  the  Fairy  Ring. 
Link  we  together  and  closely  cling 
Lest  we  lose  our  place  in  the  Fairy  Ring, 
While  the  white  stars  over  us  swirl  and  swing 
And  the  moon  sweeps  on  to  the  moon-setting, 
Linked  in  the  whirl  of  oilr  Fairy  Ring. 

[Headed  by  the  Queen  and  the  Frog,  a  string  of  dancers  passes 
round  the  stage,  gathering  numbers  as  it  goes  —  as  in  a  Faran- 
dole.  Pinkie,  Tommy  and  Molly  are  swept  into  the  stream 
and  take  their  places  in  the  circling  train.  The  music  grows 
faster  and  faster,  and  the  dancers  swing  into  a  great  ring,  again 
enclosing  a  smaller  ring  which  revolves  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion. Faster  and  wilder  grows  the  music.  Pinkie,  Molly  and 
Tommy,  borne  along  in  the  great  outer  ring,  are  rapidly  growing 
breathless. 

PINKIE  (passing  in  frenzied  jumps).     O  —  O  —  O  —  Please  — I 
can't !    O  —  my  shoe ! 
[She  is  swept  by. 

TOMMY  (whirling  past).     Here — I  say — easy  on — I — say 

MOLLY  (plunging  by  in  a  cascade  of  hairpins).     O  —  O  —  O  — 

my  —  hair  —  pins  —  0  —  O 

[Her  hair  comes  down  finally  and  for  good,  and  she  disappears. 
The  Fairies  suddenly  break  the  ring  and  are  whirled  laughing 
over  the  stage.  Pinkie,  Tommy  and  Molly  sit  breathless  on 
the  ground  in  the  centre,  while  round  them,  where  lately  was 
the  circle  of  dancers,  a  ring  of  little  white  mushroom  tables  has 
sprung  up.  A  Fairy  holding  a  tiny  gold  cup  and  plate  advances 
to  each  table. 


184  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

HERALD.     Her  Majesty  is  served. 

QUEEN.  Now,  Tommy  —  this  is  the  part  of  the  Party  you  like. 
(Tommy  overcome  by  confusion)  You  may  take  me  in  to 
supper. 

[With  much  bustle  all  find  places,  some  Fairies  at  tables,  others 
waiting  upon  them. 

PINKIE  (overwhelmed   by  offered  dainties).     O   thank   you  —  I 

mean No    thank   you  —  that   is  —  yes,    please O 

your  Majesty !    This  is  my  first  Real  Party ! 

QUEEN.  Really,  Pinkie?  Then  it  shall  be  your  very  own 
Party,  and  you  may  ask  whom  you  please. 

PINKIE.  O,  thank  you,  dear  —  ma'am,  I  mean.  But  I  don't 
know  anyone  to  ask. 

QUEEN.  You  surely  have  many  friends  in  Fairy  Tales.  Prin- 
cess Badroulbadour  —  Red  Riding  Hood  —  who  are  your 
favourites?  They  would  be  delighted  to  come. 

PINKIE.  That  would  be  lovely,  but  —  could  they?  These 
people  —  they  aren't  real  people,  you  know. 

QUEEN.     They  are  the  real-est  people  I  know. 

PINKIE  (persistent).  No,  but  real  people,  I  mean  —  real,  live 
people. 

QUEEN.  Now  look.  Here  comes  your  Uncle  Gregory  smoking 
his  cigar  before  shutting  up. 

PINKIE.     Yes,  he  isn't  allowed  to  smoke  indoors. 

[All  sit  still.  Uncle  Gregory  enters,  passes  slowly  through  the 
midst  of  the  Fairy  Banquet,  entirely  unconscious  of  his  sur- 
roundings, and  pauses  —  apparently  staring  straight  at  the 
Fairy  Queen. 

GREGORY.    Ha,  hum! 

[He  saunters  slowly  across  and  out. 

QUEEN.  Now  —  quite  candidly  speaking  —  do  you  consider 
him  real? 

PINKIE  (clapping  her  hands).  I  see!  I  see!  No,  of  course 
not.  I'm  real,  and  you're  real,  and  Tommy,  and  —  perhaps 
Molly,  but  I'm  not  quite  sure  —  but  Uncle  Gregory  — 
Ono! 

QUEEN.     Not  under  the  moon  perhaps? 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  185 

PINKIE.  No,  not  under  the  moon.  Then,  please  may  I  ask 
dear  Cinderella? 

[A  trampling  of  horses  is  heard,  and  in  the  dimness  of  the  wood 
beyond  a  golden  carriage  appears*.  Out  of  it  steps  a  beautiful 
lady  magnificently  dressed. 

HERALD.  Her  Royal  Highness  the  Princess  Cinderella  of  Sil- 
verland. 

CINDERELLA  (breathlessly).  How  do  you  do?  (Hastily  sweeps 
a  Court  curtsey  to  the  Queen  and  runs  over  to  Pinkie)  So 
sweet  of  you  to  ask  me.  Of  course,  I'm  late  —  I  always  am. 
Ah,  Godmamma,  dear.  (Runs  to  and  picks  up  a  tiny  Fairy 
apparently  some  five  years  of  age)  How  are  you?  — But  I 
need  not  ask.  How  wonderfully  you  wear!  (To  Attendants) 
O  no,  thank  you.  I've  only  this  moment  finished  dinner  — 
well,  just  the  least  drop  in  the  world  then.  (She  settles  down 
beside  Pinkie  and  fans  herself)  Ah,  dear  old  Fairy  Land! 
How  sweet  it  all  looks!  I  should  be  here  every  night  of  my 
life,  you  know  —  quiet  and  the  Simple  Life  I  just  adore  — 
but  positively  one  hasn't  a  minute. 

PINKIE  (rapturously).     Balls? 

CINDERELLA.  Balls  —  banquets  —  bazaars  —  foundation  stones 
—  my  dear,  one  can  hardly  turn  round  —  and  of  course 
one  began  so  young  that  one  gets  just  the  least  bit  in  the 
world  blase.  O,  I  should  never  have  gone  to  that  first  ball 
of  mine  —  I  wasn't  out  —  the  dear  girls  were  perfectly  right 
about  it. 

MOLLY.     The  dear  girls? 

CINDERELLA.  My  sisters,  you  know.  Such  sweet  women  — 
you'd  love  them! 

PINKIE.     But  I  thought 

CINDERELLA.  Ah,  you've  been  listening  to  silly  stories.  No, 
no,  the  girls  were  quite  right  —  and  darling  Godmother  was 
certainly  a  little  injudicious  —  weren't  you,  darling?  But 
she's  such  an  impulsive  old  dear. 

PINKIE.  But  how  I  should  love  to  have  seen  the  wonderful 
fairy  gown  that  you  wore  at  that  ball. 

CINDERELLA.     Well  —  you  might  get  a  hint  or  two  from  this 


186          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

little  frock  —  I've  always  kept  to  the  same  style.  Now,  the 

skirt,  you  see  —  cut  on  the  bias  and  gored (A  clock  strikes 

twelve.  Cinderella's  gown  falls  to  rags)  O  —  I  beg  your  par- 
don! So  silly  of  me.  It's  becoming  a  habit.  It  annoys 
the  Prince  dreadfully,  but  I  can't  help  it.  It's  nerves,  I 
think. 

PINKIE.  Never  mind,  Cinderella,  dear.  You  look  just  as  nice 
in  this  dress. 

CINDERELLA.  0,  my  dear,  a  rag!  It's  really  most  annoying. 
It  doesn't  so  much  matter  here  —  fairies  are  very  Bohemian; 
but  I  assure  you  the  other  night  we  were  dining  at  the  Pafla- 
gonian  Embassy  —  most  particular  people  —  I  knew  it  was 
one  of  my  bad  nights.  I  said  to  Peerless,  "Now  do  remem- 
ber, we  must  leave  before  midnight."  But  of  course  —  you 
know  what  men  are  — -  he  didn't  remember,  and  just  as  I 
was  talking  chiffon  with  the  Ambassadress  and  getting  on 
quite  nicely  —  Bing  Bong  —  Twelve  o'clock !  —  and  there  I 
was  in  my  petticoat  body! 

PINKIE.  But  the  Little  Glass  Slippers?  Do  they  change 
too? 

CINDERELLA.  Ah  no!  Whoever  has  danced  in  the  slippers  of 
Cinderella  will  never  lose  them.  And  they  never  wear  out. 
You  should  have  come  in  yours  to-night. 

PINKIE.     But  I  haven't  got  a  pair. 

CINDERELLA.  Haven't  you?  If  you  hadn't  you  would  not  be 
here.  Look  in  the  boot-cupboard  when  you  get  home. 


SONG 

The  Slippers  of  Cinderella 

Ho,  ho!    Ho,  ho!    Ho,  ho! 
The  high-born  ladies  are  flocking, 
Each  foot  in  a  dainty  stocking. 

Ho,  ho!    Ho,  ho!    Ho,  ho! 
But  lowly  and  high  are  eager  to  try 

In  attic  and  yard  and  cellar; 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  187 

Each  maid  in  the  land  is  longing  to  stand 
In  the  Slippers  of  Cinderella. 
Ho!  Ho!    Heel  and  toe! 
Nay,  pretty  maid,  they  are  not  for  you. 
Your  ankle's  neat  and  your  stockings  are  sweet 
But  you  haven't  the  feet  for  a  Fairy  Shoe. 

Ho,  ho!    Ho,  ho!    Ho,  ho! 
Comes  one  with  her  hair  in  papers 
With  a  reek  of  mutton  and  capers. 

Ho,  ho!    Ho,  ho!    Ho,  ho! 
Her  skirt  too  short,  with  a  list  to  port, 

A  regular  Blowzibella! 
Hardly  can  such  but  venture  to  touch 
The  Slippers  of  Cinderella. 

Ho!    Ho!    On  they  go! 
A  kingdom  won  and  a  husband  too ! 
For  you  never  can  know  how  far  you'll  go 
If  you've  fitted  your  toe  in  a  Fairy  Shoe. 

Ho,  ho!    Ho,  ho!    Ho,  ho! 
The  cobblers  of  Faerie  bear  them 
To  those  who  have  feet  to  wear  them. 

Ho,  ho!    Ho,  ho!    Ho,  ho! 
In  earth's  dim  lair  you  may  seek  a  pair, 

In  the  moon  or  in  spaces  stellar, 
While  there  on  the  floor  at  your  bedroom  door 
Lie  the  Slippers  of  Cinderella. 

Ho!    Ho!    Blow  high,  blow  low! 
Come  winter  snow  or  come  skies  of  blue! 
You'll  tread  upon  air  as  through  life  you  fare, 
If  only  you're  wearing  a  Fairy  Shoe. 

[The  Fairies  repeat  chorus,  and  Cinderella  dances  daintily  in 
her  little  Glass  Slippers.    At  close  of  dance  Fairy  Queen  beckons 
Cinderella. 
QUEEN.     Now,  Princess,  we  must  not  allow  you  to  monopolise 


188          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

the  hostess  any  longer.  Come  and  talk  to  me.  Pinkie, 
whom  else  are  you  asking  to  the  Party? 

PINKIE.     Let's  see.     O,  I  think  —  yes  —  Jack  of  the  Beanstalk. 

TOMMY.     No,  Pinkie  —  Jack  the  Giant  Killer. 

CINDERELLA  (on  her  way  to  the  Queen).  Better  ask  both,  my 
dear.  They're  dreadfully  jealous  of  each  other.  Such  unin- 
teresting boys  —  quite  of  the  People,  you  know. 

PINKIE.     Then  please,  your  Majesty,  may  I  ask  both? 
[A  horn  sounds  without  and  a  shrill  voice  cries: 

Whoever  can  this  trumpet  blow 
Shall  the  Giants  overthrow. 

TOMMY.  I  call  that  swagger  when  he  knows  there  aren't  any 
Giants. 

PINKIE.     How  does  he  know?    There  might  be. 

MOLLY.  Might  there?  Tommy  —  shouldn't  we  —  oughtn't 
we  to  be  going? 

TOMMY  (hurt).  I  don't  see  why  you're  afraid,  Molly,  with  a 
Man  to  look  after  you! 

{The  horn  sounds  again,  and  Jack  the  Giant  Killer  appears  at 
back  in  golden  light, — a  smart  boy  in  short  jerkin  and  plumed 
cap.  He  carries  a  huge  sword  and  the  horn  is  at  his  belt. 
Near  the  Throne  of  Fairy  Queen  a  long,  ladder-like  festoon  of 
leaves  and  scarlet  flowers  has  descended  from  above.  Down  it 
climbs  a  boy  dressed  like  Jack  the  Giant  Killer,  a  golden  harp 
slung  on  his  back. 

HERALD  (announcing  Jack  the  Giant  Killer).  Jack  of  the  Bean- 
stalk! 

JACK  THE  GIANT  KILLER.  Not  at  all!  (Seeing  the  other  Jack) 
0  there  you  are,  are  you?  The  usual  muddle.  It's  most 
annoying. 

[Jack  of  the  Beanstalk  steps  from  his  beanstalk  and  comes  to 
Jack  the  Giant  Killer. 

JACK  OF  THE  BEANSTALK.  Same  here.  But  you  needn't  come 
the  Giant  Killer  over  us  quite  so  strong,  you  know.  Take 
it  easy.  (To  Herald)  Now,  old  man,  try  again.  Take 
your  time. 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  189 

HERALD  (bewildered).  Jack  the  Giant  Stalk  —  Jack  the  Bean 
Killer  —  er  —  er (Desperately)  The  Jacks ! 

JACK  OF  THE  BEANSTALK.       Leave  it  at  that. 

[The  two  Jacks  sit  down  amicably  together. 

QUEEN.     Well,  Pinkie  —  what  next? 

PINKIE.  O  —  what  do  you  think?  The  White  Cat?  Puss  in 
Boots  and  the  Marquis  of  Carabas? 

CINDERELLA  (suddenly  rising).  Dear,  of  course  I  would  not 
interfere  with  your  plans  for  the  world,  but  if  you  ask  M. 
de  Carabas  I  must  leave.  The  Prince  would  never  hear  of 
my  meeting  him  again. 

PINKIE.     Why?     Doesn't  he  like  him? 

CINDERELLA.  Like  him?  My  dear,  the  man  is  quite  impos- 
sible! A  mere  nobody  —  as  you  know  —  and  always  claim- 
ing other  people's  property.  Directly  he  met  my  husband 
he  explained  that  the  Princedom  of  Silverland  was  a  title 
which  his  family  had  allowed  to  lapse,  but  that  he  was  so 
glad  that  Peerless  had  taken  it  up.  But  I  paid  him  out. 
I  took  him  for  a  long,  long  drive  in  my  Fairy  Coach  to  a 
horrid  little  village  I  knew  of  where  there  was  no  hotel, 
and  only  one  shop  which  sold  string  and  tin-tacks;  and 
when  he  said  it  belonged  to  him  —  as  of  course  he  did  — 
I  stopped  the  coach  and  said  I  was  so  pleased  to  have 
been  able  to  give  him  a  lift  home  —  and  he  had  to  get 
out  and  walk  all  the  way  back.  So  he  doesn't  like  me 
much,  you  see,  and  Peerless  and  he  won't  speak  to  each 
other. 

PINKIE.     Very  well,  Cinderella  dear.     Of  course,  I  won't  ask 

anyone  you  don't 

[The  two  Jacks ,  who  have  been  conversing  in  low  tones,  sud- 
denly go  for  each  other.  Molly  screams,  and  Pickle,  Twinkle 
and  Whisper  throw  themselves  upon  the  combatants  and  drag 
them  apart. 

JACK  THE  GIANT  KILLER.  Let  me  get  at  him!  Just  let  me 
get  at  him;  that's  all! 

JACK  OF  THE  BEAN  STALK.  Come  on  then!  Let  go  of  me,  can't 
you?  — Tm  not  afraid  of  him! 


190  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

HERALD.     Order!     Silence! 

[The  hubbub  continues,  all  speaking  at  once. 

QUEEN  (rising  and  extending  her  sceptre).  The  Queen  com- 
mands silence.  Now,  you  two  boys,  what  is  the  matter? 

JACK   THE   GIANT   KILLER.     Your   Majesty,   he   said  —     (To 
Pickle)  —  yes,  he  did !     You  heard  him !  —  he  said  that  he'd 
undertake  to  get  rid  of  as  many  giants  as  /  had  ever  come 
across  with  half  a  tin  of  Beetle  Powder. 
[They  fling  off  their  jerkins  and  turn  up  their  shirt  sleeves. 

MOLLY.  O  Tommy!  They're  going  to  fight!  O,  what  shall 
we  do? 

TOMMY.    You  get  behind  me,  Molly,  and  I  —  and  I'll  get 
behind  somebody  else. 
[Shouts  of  " Order !     Shame!     Fairies  present !"  etc. 

CINDERELLA  (to  Pinkie).  O  those  boys!  My  nerves!  I  feel 
quite  upset.  Lend  me  your  vinaigrette,  dear. 

PINKIE.     My  what? 

CINDERELLA.  Vinaigrette  —  you  haven't  one?  Then  do, 
there's  a  dear,  call  for  the  Sleeping  Beauty.  She'll  be  so 
glad  to  come,  and  she  always  quiets  people  down.  She's 
such  a  restful  woman. 

PINKIE  (shouting  through  the  tumult).  Please,  I  invite 
Beauty! 

CINDERELLA  (hastily).  Sleeping  Beauty,  dear.  There's  an- 
other person  of  that  name.  She  married  the  most  dreadful 
creature  for  his  money,  and  now  she  pretends  it  was  a  love- 
match.  Such  absurd  affectation! 

PINKIE.     The  Sleeping  Beauty! 

[The  general  squabble  swells  up  again  for  a  moment,  then  a 
drowsy  strain  of  music  creeps  into  the  noise  and  stills  it.  The 
two  Jacks,  in  the  act  of  closing  with  each  other,  pause  and 
listen.  A  Voice  sings  without. 

The  Hushaway  Honeydews  drip, 
The  slumberous  Hydromel, 
From  the  wild  white  poppies  that  bend  and  dip 
Into  the  Lullaby  Well. 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  191 

[The  combatants  separate,  and  a  hush  comes  over  all  as  a  beau- 
tiful Lady,  gowned  in  misty  greys  and  dim  purples,  and  crowned 
with  poppies,  walks  slowly  in.     In  either  hand  she  carries  a 
heavy  white  poppy,  and  her  sleepy  eyes  are  full  of  dreams.    As 
in  a  trance  she  moves  forward  and  again  takes  up  her  song. 
CINDERELLA  (while  the  Lady  walks  down  the  stage).     Here  she 
comes!     She's  such  a  dear,  but  she  hardly  ever  gets  asked 
out.     She's  a  little  heavy  on  hand,  and  she  simply  puts  an 
end  to  dinner  conversation. 
[The  Lady  sings. 

SONG 

The  Wells  of  Sleep 

As  I  leaned  over  the  Slumber  Well, 

Where  the  wild  white  poppies  grow, 
The  heart  from  my  bosom  slipped  and  fell 

Into  the  depths  below; 
And  the  waters  cool  of  that  healing  pool 

So  stilled  the  throb  and  the  pain 
That  my  heart  sank  deep  in  the  Wells  of  Sleep 
And  never  came  up  again. 

For  Hushaway  Honeydew  drips, 

The  slumberous  Hydromel, 
From  wild  white  poppies  that  brush  the  lips 
Of  the  way-worn  pilgrim  who  stoops  and  sips 

A  draught  from  Lullabye  Well. 
(With  a  long  stretch  of  sleepy  arms) 
Ah  a-a-a-a-a-a-ah ! 

A  draught  from  Lullabye  Well. 

[All  stretching  and  yawning  repeat  chorus,   "For  Hushaway 
Honeydew  drips,"  etc. 

So  still  I  drone  like  a  drowsy  bee 
Where  the  wild  white  poppies  weep, 

And  my  heart  that  is  drowned  looks  up  to  me, 
Up  through  the  Waters  of  Sleep. 


192          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

Drowned  it  lies  with  its  dream-dark  eyes 

And  a  face  so  like  mine  own, 
Image  of  me  that  is  held  in  fee 

By  the  Dreamland  King  on  his  throne. 
And  the  Hushaway  Honeydews  drip, 

The  slumberous  Hydromel, 
Closing  the  eye  and  sealing  the  lip, 
Stilling  the  frame  to  the  finger  tip, 
As  the  wild  white  poppy  leaves  fall  and  slip 
Into  the  Lullabye  Well. 

(Sinking  slowly  to  the  ground) 

Ah  a-a-a-a-a-a-ah! 

Into  the  Lullabye  Well. 

[All  repeat  chorus  very  softly,  "And  the  Hushaway  Honeydews 
drip,"  etc.  All  are  .nodding,  stretching  and  blinking,  on  the 
very  verge  of  sleep. 

CINDERELLA  (languidly  marking  time  with  her  broom).  Isn't 
she  a  nice,  cosy  thing?  Don't  you  find  her  wonderfully 
soothing?  (No  answer  from  the  drowsy  company.  Loudly) 
I  was  saying  —  don't  you  find  her  wonderfully  soothing?  \ 

PINKIE    (with   a   start).    Eh?    What?    O,   listen   to   Tommy 
snoring!     I  must  shake  him. 
[Does  so  vigourously. 

MOLLY  (regarding  the  Sleeping  Beauty  with  disfavour).  I  can 
quite  understand  that  at  small  dinners  the  Princess  would 
be  unpopular. 

CINDERELLA.  Yes,  but  she's  such  a  dear.  (Bending  over  her) 
Rosabel,  darling,  do  rouse  yourself  a  little. 

SLEEPING  BEAUTY  (opening  her  eyes).  Where  am  I?  Did  some- 
one kiss  me? 

MOLLY  (primly).  You  are  at  a  Party,  Princess,  and,  if  I  may 
be  allowed  to  say  so 

CINDERELLA.  It's  not  of  the  slightest  use  to  snap  at  her,  my 
dear;  she  has  the  temper  of  a  feather  bed.  (Raising  the 
Sleeping  Beauty)  Come  along,  darling,  and  talk  to  the 
Queen.  She  has  been  asking  for  you. 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  193 

MOLLY  (suddenly).    Hushl    What's  that? 

ALL.     What? 

MOLLY.    That  noise.     There  it  is  again! 

PINKIE.     I  hear  it  now  —  like  a  garden  roller  walking  upstairs. 

MOLLY.     Yes.     It's   coming   nearer.     Some   big   heavy   thing 

pushing  through  the  brake.     Tommy! 

[Edging  nervously  behind  him. 
TOMMY.    Molly !    I  —  I    never    knew    such    an    Unprotected 

Female  as  you !     I  Ve  been  protecting  you  all  the  evening, 

and  I've  had  just  about  enough  of  it!     What's  the  use  of 

that  Giant  Killer  chap  with  his  big  sword? 
PINKIE.     Why,   of  course!    He'd  just  love  to   rescue   us  — 

wouldn't  you,  Jack? 
JACK  THE  GIANT  KILLER.    Ye-es.    O  ye-es.    You  see,  Miss, 

you  put  me  in  a  difficulty. 
MOLLY  (indignant).     Nothing  to  the  difficulty  you  put  us  in! 

Do  you  mean  to  say  you  won't  rescue  us? 
JACK  OF  THE  BEANSTALK.     You  see,  Miss,  the  Giant  Killer  and 

I  —  we're  specialists.    In  fact,  we're  all  specialists  here.    His 

licence  and  mine  are  for  Giants,  and  if  what  is  coming  is  a 

Giant,  we'll  bag  him  with  pleasure.      But  suppose  it  isn't. 
JACK  THE  GIANT  KILLER.     Yes  —  suppose,  for  instance,  it's  a 

Dragon.     Why,  if  we  so  much  as  touched  one  there'd  be 

trouble.     They're   all   preserved   most   carefully   for   Saint 

George  and  More  of  More  Hall. 
PICKLE.    They're  quite  right,  Pinkie.    The  Fairy  Game  Laws 

are  most  strict. 
PINKIE.    Then  —  Tommy? 
TOMMY.    Not  me.     I've  got  one  of  my  headaches  coming  on. 

Besides,  last  time  I  wanted  to  be  Launcelot  you  made  me  be  a 

damsel  in  distress.     Now  you  can  jolly  well  stick  to  Launcelot. 

See! 
ALL    (crowding    round).    Hail    the    Champion!     Pinkie,    the 

Champion ! 
THE  QUEEN  (from  her  throne).     Pinkie,  my  dear,  as  it  is  your 

Party,  I'm  really  afraid 

PICKLE.     Come  along,  Pinkie,  you'll  do  splendidly.     You  shall 


194  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

have  Jack  the  Giant  Killer's  sword  and  Jack  of  the  Bean- 
stalk's cap. 

THE  JACKS.     Delighted,  Miss,  I'm  sure. 

PINKIE  (rejecting  sword).  O  no  —  please.  I  know  Aunt  Caro- 
line wouldn't  let  me  play  with  that. 

THE    QUEEN. 

Needs  must  the  Champion  wield  the  Sword  in  fight 
That  ever  bringeth  Victory  to  the  Right. 
PINKIE  (desperately).     But  p'raps  I'm  Wrong.     How  am  I  to 

know?  —  And  then  the  thing  would  turn  round  on  me! 

No  sword,  thank  you!     Cinderella,  dear,  lend  me  your  broom. 

(The  heavy  footsteps,  now  close  at  hand,  echo  through  the  wood. 

To  Pickle)     Now  —  what  do  I  say? 
PICKLE.     O,  you  know  —  Monster,  I  challenge  thee  to  mortal 

combat! 

PINKIE.     What's  mortal? 
WHISPER.    Till  you're  both  killed. 
PINKIE.     I'll  leave  out  mortal.     And  then? 

PICKLE.     Then  you  throw  down  your  glove  and 

PINKIE.     I  know.     O  my  goodness!     (Enter  at  back  a  huge  hairy 

Monster)     Do  I  begin  now? 
PICKLE.     Yes. 

PINKIE  (advancing).  Monster,  I  —  what?  —  O  yes  —  I  chal- 
lenge thee  to  mor  —  I  mean  —  to  —  er  —  to  combat.  In 

token  of  which  behold  my O,  I  haven't  got  one ! 

PICKLE.     Never  mind!    Anything  will  do.     Go  on!     Go  on! 
PINKIE.     Behold  my  shoe! 

[Snatches  off  her  shoe  and  flings  it  down.     The  Monster  stares, 

much  puzzled,  then  picks  up  shoe. 
MONSTER  (politely).    Excuse  me,  Madame,  but  you've  dropped 

something. 

ALL.     He  has  lifted  it!    He  has  lifted  it! 
TOMMY.     Now  then,  Pinkie.     Go  it,  Pinkie! 

[Pinkie  assaults  the  Monster  with  broom;  he  trots  slowly  away 

from  her. 
ALL.     He  flies!    He  flies!    Engage!    Engage  him  again! 

[As   Pinkie  again  attacks  him,   a  very  pretty  young  Lady,, 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  195 

crowned  with  white  roses,  rushes  in  and  throws  her  arms  round 
the  Monster. 

YOUNG  LADY.  Algernon !  0  —  don't  hurt  him !  What  has  he 
been  doing? 

PINKIE.  We  —  we  didn't  quite  know  what  he  might  be  going 
to  do. 

QUEEN.  The  gentleman  entering  unannounced,  we  natu- 
rally  

YOUNG  LADY.  Ah,  I  see.  (Hands  card  to  Herald)  O,  Algernon, 
how  gauche  of  you! 

HERALD  (announcing).     Beauty  and  the  Beast. 

CINDERELLA.     That  woman! 

[Beauty  and  the  Beast  bow  to  the  Queen.     Pinkie  comes  to  them. 

PINKIE.  O  Beauty  —  0  Beast  —  I'm  so  sorry !  I  never 
thought 

BEAUTY.  Of  course  not,  dear.  It  was  entirely  Algernon's 
fault.  Algernon,  I  am  afraid  you  have  really  been  very 
gauche  indeed.  (To  Pinkie)  You  see  —  you  asked  me  to 
your  Party,  and  as  I  was  not  quite  ready  I  told  Algernon 
to  go  on  first  and  wait  for  me.  And  then  he  comes 
blundering  in  by  himself!  Really,  Algernon,  you  must 
apologise. 

BEAST  (on  his  knees  to  Pinkie).  Dear  Beauty,  will  you  marry 
me? 

BEAUTY  (sharply).  Don't  be  silly,  Algernon!  Such  a  stupid 
habit  he  got  into  before  I  accepted  him.  He  had  to  propose 
so  often.  You  see,  his  appearance  was  against  him,  poor 
dear  boy. 

MOLLY.     But  I  thought  he  turned  into  a  Beautiful  Prince. 

BEAUTY.  So  he  does,  when  you  know  him.  You  see,  none  of 
you  know  Algernon  very  well  yet. 

ALL  (frigidly) .     Er  —  no. 

CINDERELLA.  And  I'm  afraid  that  I  must  look  forward  to  an- 
other opportunity,  for  really,  Pinkie  dear,  I  must  be  getting 
on.  It's  so  late,  and  Johnson,  my  coachman,  can't  bear 
having  the  mice  kept  waiting. 

SLEEPING  BEAUTY.    Then  we  mustn't  delay  you,  dear.     But 


196  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

I'm  so  glad  to  have  met  you  again  —  and  you  too,  Beauty  — 
and  the  Jacks.  In  these  levelling  days  we  —  the  Old  Guard 
of  Faerie  —  should  stand  together,  for  the  sake  of  Once 
upon  a  Time. 

CINDERELLA  (preparing  for  departure).  Now,  will  some  one 
look  for  my  carriage,  please?  (Shouts  of  "The  Princess  Cin- 
derella coming  out ! ")  It's  rather  interesting.  I  never  know 
how  much  of  the  carriage  I  shall  find  after  twelve  o'clock. 
I'm  quite  ashamed  to  let  you  see  it.  (Looking  of)  O,  it's 
shocking  to-night.  How  dreadfully  plain  Johnson  looks  — 
and  he's  really  such  a  smart  coachman.  (The  withered  half 
of  a  huge  Pumpkin  wobbles  in  on  rickety  wheels,  drawn  by  four 
piebald  mice  and  driven  by  a  large  brown  rat)  O  Johnson,  is 
this  the  best  you  can  manage  for  me?  (The  Rat  touches  his 
hat  in  apology)  Well,  well.  Lucky  it's  fine.  The  open 
carriage  will  be  rather  pleasant.  (Packs  herself  into  the  Pump- 
kin, her  toes  sticking  out)  Good-bye,  dear.  I  have  enjoyed 
myself.  Drive  on,  Johnson.  Good-bye!  Good-bye! 
[Cinderella  in  her  Pumpkin  disappears,  waving  her  handker- 
chief. 

PINKIE  (calling  after  her).  But  shall  we  see  you  again?  Cin- 
derella, de — e — ear !  Shall  we  see 

BEAUTY.  See  her  again?  Of  course  you  will.  Now  we  know 
each  other  we  shall  all  pop  in  upon  you  from  time  to  tune  — 
though  perhaps  you  may  not  always  recognise  us. 

PICKLE.  And  now,  children,  you  must  be  getting  home  your- 
selves. We  must  not  keep  you  out  too  late,  although  we  do 
not  allow  Time  in  Fairyland. 

PINKIE.  But  we  sha'n't  go  back  and  find  that  it's  twenty  years 
from  now  —  and  nettles  in  the  spare  bedroom  and  Aunt  Caro- 
line's beard  grown  in  her  lap? 

PICKLE.     Certainly  not. 

TWINKLE.     That  sort  of  thing  never  happens  to  invited  Guests. 

MOLLY  (suddenly  to  the  Queen).  O,  your  Majesty!  There 
will  be  no  mistake  about  to-morrow  being  to-morrow, 
will  there?  Because  I  —  I  have  a  rather  particular  engage- 
ment. 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  197 

THE  QUEEN.  You  will  find  to-morrow  waiting  for  you  just  as 
usual,  Molly. 

TOMMY.  But  we're  not  going  to  wake  up  in  our  little  white 
beds  and  find  it's  all  a  dream,  are  we?  That's  such  a  rotten 
ending. 

THE  QUEEN.  Of  course  not.  That's  a  Grown-up's  ending. 
Dream,  indeed!  (To  Sleeping  Beauty)  Princess  Rosabel, 
you  are  going  their  way.  Will  you  see  them  home? 

SLEEPING  BEAUTY.  With  great  pleasure.  My  dust  cloak, 
please.  (A  grey  mist  rises,  which  the  Sleeping  Beauty  gathers 

round  herself,  Molly,  Pinkie  and  Tommy) And  if  any  of 

the  dust  gets  into  your  eyes  —  then  close  them  —  close 

them. 

[Music  sounds,  and  shadows  begin  to  gather  over  the  stage, 

gradually  blotting  out  all  but  the  crowd  of  Fairies  clustered 

round  the  enthroned  Queen.    As  the  light  fades  the  Fairies  sing. 

CHORUS 

Dreamers,  passing  from  us  all  regretful, 
Children  of  the  Day  that  seek  the  noon, 
Wake  upon  the  morrow  half  forgetful, 
Sun-kissed  flowers  unmindful  of  the  Moon; 

Yet  the  link  between  us  will  not  sever, 
Knitting  mortal  world  with  Fairy  clime; 
In  the  Now  you  found  the  Never  Never 
Once  upon  a  time. 

(The  Visitors  to  Fairyland  have  completely  vanished  in  the 
shadows.  The  crowd  of  Fairies  now  begins  to  fade) 

SEMI-CHORUS 

Here  is  but  the  endless  night  of  Faerie, 
Mellow  moons  that  never  wax  nor  wane, 
Stars  that  set  not,  skies  that  cannot  vary, 
All  unstirred  by  wind,  unswept  by  rain. 


198  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 


SEXTETTE 

Far  from  Time,  as  far  from  Joy  or  Sorrow, 
Measured  by  no  stroke  of  mortal  chime, 
There  is  no  To-day  and  no  To-morrow 
Once  upon  a  time. 

(All  has  now  disappeared  save  the  figure  of  the  Fairy  Queen,  en- 
throned, which  shines  like  a  star  in  the  darkness) 

TRIO 

In  the  magic  hour  when  night  with  day  mates, 
Ere  the  veiling  shadows  are  withdrawn, 
You  awhile  must  leave  your  Fairy  playmates, 
Leave  them  in  the  darkness  of  the  dawn. 

THE    QUEEN  (solo). 

Never  wholly  children  of  the  day,  dears, 
In  your  ears  the  ring  of  elfin  rhyme : 
Once  to  Fairyland  you  found  your  way,  dears; 
Once  upon  a  time. 

[The  figure  of  the  Queen  fades  as  she  sings.    As  darkness  is 
complete  the  curtain  fatts. 


ACT  III 
MORNING  IN  THE  GARDEN 

The  Scene  is  the  same  as  that  of  Act  I,  now  lit  by  clear  morn- 
ing sunshine.  The  only  change  is  that,  within  the  wood  where 
a  few  patches  of  bluebells  were  seen  before,  is  spread  a  carpet 
of  blue,  the  flowers  lying  like  blue  mist  round  the  boles  of  the 
trees. 

After  a  short,  chiming  Prelude,  Pinkie  comes  from  the  wood, 
her  hands  full  of  bluebells. 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  199 

SONG 

Bluebell  Time 
PINKIE. 

I  thought  that  the  grass  was  green, 

To-day  it  has  all  turned  blue. 
Had  anyone  told  me  —  even  a  Queen  — 
I  would  not  have  thought  it  true. 

I  wonder  if  I'm  awake. 

Those  trees  never  used  to  grow 
Bathing  their  feet  in  a  deep  blue  lake. 
I  can't  make  it  out,  you  know. 

I  always  thought  of  the  sky 
High  lifted  over  my  head; 
So  please  can  you  tell  me  the  reason  why 
It's  under  my  feet  instead? 

But  the  Bellmen  of  Elfin  Town 
Ring  out  their  delicate  chime. 
The  world  has  not  turned  upside  down, 
It  is  only  —  Bluebell  Time. 

[Pinkie,  seated  on  the  grass,  begins  to  tie  the  bluebells  into 
wreaths.  Tommy  lounges  in  aimlessly  from  the  terrace. 

TOMMY.     Hullo ! 

PINKIE  (without  looking  up).     Hullo! 

TOMMY  (coming  to  her).     What  are  you  doing? 

PINKIE.  Making  our  May  wreaths.  The  May  Children  are 
out  in  the  village;  I  heard  them  singing  at  the  Blue  Pig  and 
at  Mrs.  Dobson's.  They'll  be  round  here  soon.  Just  look 
at  the  bluebells. 

TOMMY.     I  say!     They  ham  come  out! 

PINKIE.  Yes;  I  think  they  must  have  come  out  at  the  Fairy 
Party.  Tommy!  What  a  party! 

TOMMY.     Not  half  bad.     The  supper  was  awfully  well  done. 

PINKIE.     I  say,  Tommy;  do  you  think  they'll  forget? 

TOMMY.     Who? 


200          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

PINKIE.     The  Fairy  Tale  People.     Don't  you  remember  Beauty 

said:  "Now  we  know  you  we  shall  pop  in  from  time  to  time"? 
TOMMY.     But  fancy  Aunt  Caroline  when  they  pop! 
PINKIE.     I  expect  they  would  make  that  all  right.     Beauty 

spoke  as  if  it  were  quite  the  usual  thing.     (Throwing  wreath 

to  him)  Try  that  on,  will  you? 
TOMMY  (complying).  It's  all  right. 
PINKIE  (throwing  him  some  bluebells).  Here  —  you  might  make 

Molly's. 
TOMMY  (tying  up  the  flowers).     I  don't  believe  she'll  wear  one; 

she's  awfully   Grown-up  to-day.     She   told   me   she'd  had 

"such  a  funny  dream,"  and  when  I  tried  to  whisper  to  her, 

she  squeaked:   "0,  0,  mind  my  hair." 
PINKIE.     Ah,  that's  what  she  wanted  the  slate-pencil  for,  then. 

I  couldn't  imagine. 
TOMMY.     What  did  she  want  it  for? 

PINKIE.     For  something  that  boys  don't  know  anything  about. 
TOMMY.     But  I  do!    I've  been  curled  myself. 
PINKIE  (with  superiority) .     Ah,  but  you  haven't  been  on  —  on- 

dulayed. 

TOMMY.     No,  but  I  bet  I  jolly  well  could  be  if  I  wanted. 
PINKIE  (roused).     Bet  you  couldn't. 
TOMMY.    All  right.     Make  your  own  wreath  then. 

[Throws  down  wreath. 
PINKIE  (rising  with  dignity).     I  am  making  my  own  —  and  I've 

made  yours  —  and  I  wish  I  hadn't.     There!     (Throws  down 

wreaths.    A  pause.    Distant  singing  is  heard,  "Please  to  re- 
member the  Garland")     S  —  st!    Listen! 
TOMMY.     It's   the  May   Children  —  coming   along  our  road. 

Come  on! 

PINKIE  (looking  at  the  flowers).     O,  we've  forgotten  the 

TOMMY.     Never  mind.     Come  on! 

[Exeunt  by  garden  gate. 

[A  plaintive  stream  of  music  rises  as  Aunt  Imogen  and  Uncle 
Gregory,  each  with  a  newspaper,  emerge  from  the  house  and  walk 
down  from  the  terrace.  They  walk  slowly  and  dejectedly  and 
finally  seat  themselves  in  garden  chairs. 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies 


201 


IMOGEN. 


IMOGEN.     Heigh  ho ! 

GREGORY.     Er  —  depressed,  Imogen? 

IMOGEN.  Not  exactly  depressed,  Gregory.  There  is  something 
in  the  sweet  spring  air  which  revives  old  dreams  —  old  ambi- 
tions. Look  at  this.  (Pointing  to  paper)  Pale  cream-col- 
oured mousseline  de  soie  with  delicate  lace  insertion  through- 
out and  just  one  touch  of 

GREGORY.  I  know  what  you  mean.  I  —  hum  ha  —  I  feel  it 
myself.  See  this  prospectus  of  the  Pterodactyl  Ruby  Mines 
—  just  a  few  shares  not  taken  up.  Ah! 

IMOGEN.    Ah ! 

DUET 

Ah,  heart,  that  kindles  at  Spring's  caress, 
Lie  still,  poor  heart,  it  is  not  for  thee, 

That  lofty  vision  of  dainty  dress, 
Of  muslin,  of  net  and  of  organdie. 

Ah,  heart,  that  leaps  in  the  mild  May  air, 

Refrain,  poor  heart,  they  are  not  for  you: 
The  Bogus  Mine  and  the  Risky  Share 

For  limited  incomes  will  not  do. 
Ah,  golden  dreamer! 

Ah,  dainty  schemer! 
BOTH.     Leave,  leave  thy  dreaming  ere  worse  ensue! 
IMOGEN. 

So  here  sit  I  in  a  plain  cloth  skirt, 

In  a  blouse  from  Barker  at  six  and  nine. 


GREGORY. 


IMOGEN. 
GREGORY. 


GREGORY. 


IMOGEN. 


GREGORY. 


And  here  I  linger,  supine,  inert, 

While  Consols  shrink  and  Home  Rails  decline. 

The  picture-hat  on  the  well-dressed  hair, 
The  smart  bolero  —  ah,  where  are  these? 

The  manly  tussle  of  bull  with  bear, 

The  heartsome  chink  of  Directors'  fees ! 


202          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

IMOGEN. 

Ah,  brain  gigantic! 

GREGORY. 

Ah,  soul  romantic! 

BOTH. 

Fold,  fold  thy  pinions:  so  Fate  decrees. 
IMOGEN. 

So  it's  hey  nonny  nonny  for  the  trim  cloth  frock 
At  a  sale  for  a  simple  song. 
Then  if  one  only  chooses 
One  or  two  nice,  dressy  blouses 
One  is  set  up  for  the  whole  year  long. 

GREGORY. 

And  it's  hey  nonny  nonny  for  the  gilt-edged  Stock 
That  is  quoted  as  "firm"  and  "strong." 
They  bring  in  about  a  penny, 
So  they  don't  appeal  to  many, 
But  we  feel  that  they  can  not  go  wrong. 
BOTH. 

So  it's  hey  nonny  nonny  for  the  plain  cloth  frock  [etc.]. 
So  it's  hey  nonny  nonny  for  the  gilt-edge  Stock  [etc.]. 

[A  chord  from  the  Orchestra.    Enter  Aunt   Caroline    on  the 
terrace,  her  hands  full  of  tradesmen's  books. 
CAROLINE  (through  music). 

Peace!    While  I  check  the  books  of  Josephine, 
The  hidden  mysteries  of  the  Cuisine. 

[She  comes  down  in  meditation. 

RECITATIVE  AND  ARIA 

CAROLINE. 

What  Power  is  mine!    By  culinary  grace 

I  waft  the  enraptured  soul  to  realms  of  bliss, 
Or  with  a  blow  from  Indigestion's  mace 
I  hurl  it  to  the  nethermost  abyss. 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  203 

Before  no  rival  sway  my  flag  is  furled; 
The  hand  that  cooks  the  dinner  rules  the  world ! 
Supreme  I  reign,  despotic  and  alone ! 

(So/%) 

Ah,  me,  but  I  am  lonely  on  my  throne! 
Cold  is  the  joint  so  warm  of  yore, 
Hashed  is  the  mutton  of  yesterday. 

Ah  me !    Ah  me ! 

And  the  elderly  egg  that  has  gone  astray 
Is  never  the  egg  it  was  before. 

Ah  me!    Ah  me! 
For  breakfast  and  lunch  and  tea! 
It's  hey  for  the  dinner  that's  cleared  away. 
Then  ho  for  the  dinner  to  be! 

Stale,  so  stale  is  the  grocer's  cake, 
Mouldy  the  biscuit  of  yester-year. 

Ah  me!    Ah  me! 
And  flat,  so  flat,  is  the  table  beer 
That  was  drawn  last  night  by  a  slight  mistake. 

Ah  me !    Ah  me ! 
For  breakfast  and  lunch  and  tea! 
It's  hey  for  the  dinner  that's  cleared  away, 
Then  ho  for  the  dinner  to  be ! 

[At  close  of  aria  Caroline  sits  in  dejection  by  Imogen  and 
Gregory.  Enter  Elves  —  Pickle,  Whisper  and  Twinkle,  very 
softly.  They  examine  the  Grown-ups  critically. 

WHISPER.     How  dreadfully  dull  they  look,  poor  things ! 

TWINKLE.     And  on  May  Morning  too ! 

PICKLE.     Let  us  try  to  cheer  them  up  a  bit. 

WHISPER.     Yes,  do  let's.     We  will  each  take  one. 

TWINKLE.     How  shall  we  do  it? 

PICKLE.     We  will  just  whisper  a  little  to  them.     You  know. 
[Whisper  stands  behind  Imogen,   Twinkle  by  Caroline,    and 
Pickle  by  Gregory.     They  whisper  softly  into  their  ears. 

IMOGEN   (suddenly).     Caroline!     Gregory!     Do  you  not  feel, 


204          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

amidst  the  unfolding  of  buds,  the  upspringing  of  larks,  the 

homage  of  all  Nature  to  the  Spring,  that  we  alone  are  un- 
moved?    Shall  not  our  hearts  go  a-Maying  with  the  birds 

and  blossoms? 
GREGORY  (looking  round).     I  do  not  notice  any  larks  —  hum, 

ha  —  upspringing,  Imogen. 
IMOGEN.     No,  but  I'm  sure  they  are  upspringing  somewhere. 

Come,  Caroline,  let  us  too  go  a-Maying! 
CAROLINE.     I  own  I  am  conscious  of  a  certain  exhilaration, 

Imogen.     Do  you  then  seriously  propose  that  we  should  — 

er  —  May? 

GREGORY.    How  does  one  —  hum,  ha  —  May? 
IMOGEN.     I  am  not  sure,  Gregory,  but  I  imagine  that  it  cannot 

be  difficult.     I  never  heard  of  anyone  who  wanted  to  May 

and  couldn't  May. 
PICKLE  (to  Whisper).    They  are  getting  on.     They  are  really 

getting  on  a  little,  aren't  they? 
IMOGEN.     First  of  all,  I  believe,  we  gather  sweet  armfuls  of 

May  Blossom. 
CAROLINE.     Hawthorn  never  comes  out  until  we  are  nearly  in 

June,  as  you  very  well  know,  Imogen. 

IMOGEN.     0,  well  —  sweet  armfuls  of  —  something  or  other. 
CAROLINE.     Understand  that  I  will  not  have  the  fruit  blossom 

touched. 
IMOGEN  (with  growing  elation).     Then  we  crown  ourselves  with 

flowery  chaplets. 

[With  much  difficulty  Pickle  leads  Gregory  up  to  the  children's 

discarded  wreaths. 

GREGORY.     Do  you  suppose  that  —  hum,  ha  —  these  would  do? 
IMOGEN  (pouncing  upon  the  flowers).     Charming!     Charming! 

Now,  Caroline  dear,  don't  you  think  we  really   ought  to 

May  —  just  a  little? 
CAROLINE    (gradually   unbending}.     Well  —  perhaps    for    this 

once  —  I  really  —  where's  Ann? 
IMOGEN.     Looking  out  the  washing. 
CAROLINE  (awkwardly  putting  on  garland).     Well,  then  —  is  that 

right? 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  205 

GREGORY.     Eh?     Bless  my  soul  —  ha,  hum! 

[Puts  on  wreath. 
IMOGEN  (crowning  herself).     Ah!     Now!    Does  not  this  make 

you  feel  at  one  with  Nature,  with  the  merry  Springtide? 

Mercy,  how  the  thing  tickles! 

[Rubbing  her  ear. 

CAROLINE.     And  what  do  we  do  next,  Imogen,  if  I  may  ask? 
IMOGEN  (prompted  by  Whisper).     Next  we  —  we  dance  on  the 

green. 
GREGORY  (trying  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing).     Ha!    We 

dance  on  the  green! 

[He  hums  a  polka  of  the  early  'sixties  and,  with  Imogen,  prances 

shamefacedly  round  once  or  twice. 
WHISPER.     They  are  really  not  bad,  are  they? 
TWINKLE.     Not  at  all  bad. 
PICKLE.     And  how  nice  it  is  to  see  them  looking  so  natural 

and  sensible,  isn't  it? 
CAROLINE    (suddenly).     Imogen!     You    are    making    yourself 

ridiculous ! 
GREGORY  (roused).     Well,  I  must  say,  Caroline,  if  you  are  going 

to  May  —  May! 
CAROLINE  (her  wreath  well  over  one  eye).     I  trust  that  I  have  too 

much  self-respect  willingly  to  appear  absurd,  Gregory! 

GREGORY.     Well,  all  I  say  is  —  if  you're  going  to  May 

CAROLINE  (hastily).     What  next,  Imogen? 
IMOGEN  (prompted).     Next  —  we  carol.     Ahem! 
CAROLINE.     Ahem ! 
GREGORY.     Ha,  hum! 

[They  range  themselves  in  a  row  like  a  village  choir. 

TRIO 
'Tis  Spring 

CAROLINE. 

When  Frost  and  Snow  have  done  their  worst, 

When  last  year's  gnats  awake  and  sting, 
When  all  the  outside  pipes  have  burst  — 
'Tis  Spring!     'Tis  Spring! 


206          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

IMOGEN. 

When  Curates  twitter  on  the  lawn 

(Hark  how  the  throaty  warblers  sing !) 
We  know  the  year  is  at  the  dawn  — 
Tis  Spring !     Tis  Spring ! 

GREGORY. 

No  doubt  the  fact  for  comment  calls, 

(And  gets  it,  as  a  usual  thing) 
Yet  May  invariably  falls 

In  Spring!     In  Spring! 

[As  the  Grown-ups  are  concluding  with  old-fashioned  roulades, 
they  are  interrupted  by  shrill  voices  of  Children  from  beyond  he 
.     hedge  singing  the  old  begging  song  of  the  Garland.     The  Fairies 
disappear. 

The  First  of  May  is  Garland  Day, 
So  please  to  remember  the  Garland. 
We  come  here  but  once  a  year, 
So  please  to  remember  the  Garland. 
So  rest  you  merry,  gentlemen, 
We  wish  you  a  happy  day  — 

[Enter  Molly  on  the  terrace. 

MOLLY.     Aunt  Caroline  —  a  crowd  of  children  at  the  gate- 
shall  I  let  them  in? 

IMOGEN.     One  of  our  quaint  old  country  customs,  dear;    the 
children  with  their  May  Garlands.     Let  them  in  by  all  means. 

CAROLINE.     Molly  —  tell  them  to  keep  off  the  grass! 
[Molly  opens  the  gate. 

GREGORY  (to  nobody  in  particular).     A  curious  survival  of  the 
ancient  —  ha,    hum  —  rites   of   Flora,     the  —  hum,    ha  — 

goddess  of 

[Headed  by  Pinkie  and  Tommy,  a  troop  of  Village  Children 
rush  laughing  and  shouting  into  the  garden.  The  Aunts 
quickly  remove  their  wreaths.  Gregory9  s  remains  forgotten  upon 
his  brow.  The  Children  are  brightly  dressed  in  little  cloaks 
and  hoods,  and  all  are  garlanded  with  flowers,  and  bear  flowery 
globes  upon  long  staves.  After  much  hustling,  giggling  and 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  207 

tuneless  shouting  of  the  Garland  Song,  they  range  themselves 
into  two  groups,  one  of  boys,  the  other  of  girls,  and  begin  to  sing. 

MAY  SONG 

BOYS. 

Where  fare  the  maids  at  break  of  day? 
GIRLS. 

Far  away ! 

Where  lay  the  lads  when  dawn  was  red? 
BOYS. 

Still  in  bed. 
Why  wander  under  weeping  skies 

While  day  is  new? 
GIRLS. 

On  field  and  wood  the  sweet  spell  lies, 

May's  magic  dew. 
CHORUS. 

May  is  a  pretty  maid, 
Pretty  maid,  pretty  maid. 
She  plies  a  merry  trade. 
Merry  maid,  stay. 
Give  of  your  honeydew, 
'Twill  every  charm  renew. 
We  shall  be  pretty  too, 
Pretty  and  gay; 
Sweet  as  merry  maid  May. 

[The  Children  go  through  a  quaint  Morris  Dance  with  staves 
and  garlands,  then,  to  a  merry  old-world  air,  fall  into  a  contre 
dance  (up  the  middle  and  down  again).  All  join.  The  Grown- 
ups  with  ponderous  condescension  trot  gravely  down  the  middle, 
then  retire  up  stage.  Pinkie,  Tommy  and  Molly  next  dance 
down,  then  —  after  a  slight  pause  —  a  Young  Lady  in  a  very 
smart  visiting  gown  appears  between  the  rows  of  Dancers  and 
skips  down  the  middle  with  an  almost  unnecessary  display  of 
little  shining  shoes.  Down  stage  at  the  end  of  the  row,  she 
meets  Molly. 


208  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

LADY.  There  you  are,  my  dear!  (Kisses  her)  How  are 
you?  Does  nobody  ever  answer  the  bell  at  your  front  gate? 
I've  been  ringing  for  the  last  five  minutes. 

MOLLY.  I'm  so  sorry  —  the  children  have  been  making  such  a 
noise.  I'm  sure  my  Aunts  will  be 

THE  LADY  (rather  gravely).  So  you  have  quite  forgotten  me. 
I  thought  perhaps  you  might. 

MOLLY.    — —  So  stupid  of  me !    Of  course  I  know  your  face, 

but 

[Pinkie  and  Tommy  approach. 

THE  LADY  (expectantly).     Well,  children? 

PINKIE  (after  a  long  stare}.     Cinderella  de-a-r! 

TOMMY.     Princess  Cinderella! 

CINDERELLA  (with  mode  hauteur).  Not  at  all.  Lady  Pantouffle 
Vere.  Don't  forget.  We're  not  under  the  moon  now,  you  know. 

MOLLY  (to  Tommy).  What  name  did  she  say,  Tommy?  I  can't 
remember  where  I  have  seen  her! 

TOMMY.     Molly!     Don't  you  know  her? 

[The  May  Children  swarm  round  Cinderella,  holding  out  hands 
and  singing,  "Please  to  remember  the  Garland." 

CINDERELLA.     Jolly  little  kids !     Here (Drawing  a  handful 

of  silver  from  bag  other  side)  Catch!  (Scatters  it.  The  Chil- 
dren scramble)  And  now  I  think  you  had  better  run  along. 
Nothing  more  to  be  got  here,  I  fancy. 

SOME  CHILDREN.     Three  cheers  for  the  Pretty  Lady! 

CHORUS.     Hip,  hip,  hurrah! 

[The  Children  crowd  out  at  the  gate,  their  voices  dying  away 
down  the  lane  as  the  scene  proceeds. 

PINKIE  (panic-stricken,  to  Cinderella).  O,  here  comes  Aunt 
Caroline!  What  shall  we  do? 

[The  Aunts  come  down,  evidently  prepared  for  battle.  Gregory 
accompanies  them.  Cinderella  attacks  at  once  with  vigour. 

CINDERELLA.  How  do  you  do,  dear  Miss  —  er  —  Mr.  —  er? 
I  know  I  am  taking  an  unpardonable  liberty  in  calling,  but 
the  fact  is  that  one  of  those  odious  motors  all  but  ran  us  down 
just  at  your  gate,  and  Johnson,  my  coachman,  says  that  the 
horses  are  suffering  from  nervous  shock  —  or  something  — 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  209 

and  he's  giving  them  salvolatile,  or  burning  feathers  und^x 

their  noses  —  or  whatever  you  do  in  such  cases  —  and  so  I 

—  O  dear.     I  never  sent  in  my  card !  —  Lady  Pantouffle  Vere 

—  and  as  this  young  lady  and  gentleman  and  I  are  old 

friends 

[Giving  a  hand  to  Pinkie  and  Tommy. 

CAROLINE.  Elenour!  I  had  no  idea  that  you  knew  Lady  Pan- 
touffle! 

PINKIE  AND  TOMMY.      I  —  I  —  W6  — 

CINDERELLA.  Met  at  a  party,  didn't  we?  Dear  me,  it 

seems  only  last  night.  What  fun  it  was!  O,  by  the  bye, 
children,  Rosabel  Dormer  is  with  me  in  the  carriage.  Won't 
you  bring  her  in?  She'd  love  to  see  the  garden. 

TOMMY.     Princess  Rosabel? 

CINDERELLA.  Hush  —  we  drop  the  Princess  here.  (Exit 
Tommy  by  gate.  To  Aunts)  Don't  you  know  Rosabel  Dormer? 
One  of  the  du  Bois  Dormers,  you  know. 

THE  AUNTS.     Ah  yes  —  of  course  —  the  du  Bois  Dormers. 

CINDERELLA.  You  won't  mind  showing  her  your  charming 
garden?  She  has  a  wonderful  rose  hedge  at  her  place. 
Quite  a  sight.  (Enter  through  the  gate  Tommy  escorting  the  Sleep- 
ing Beauty.  She  is  very  tastefully  gowned  in  grey  and  purple 
net,  with  a  large  hat  trimmed  with  grey  and  white  poppies.  She 
carries  a  poppy-covered  parasol)  Ah,  Rosabel,  dear.  (Intro- 
ducing) Lady  Rosabel  Dormer.  (Caroline  and  Imogen 
murmur)  I  was  afraid  you  would  be  getting  tired  of  wait- 
ing for  me,  but  Miss  —  er  —  is  being  so  kind 

SLEEPING  BEAUTY.     Yes,  dear,  I  was  just  dozing  off. 

CINDERELLA.  Good  gracious,  my  dear,  you  mustn't  do  that! 
You  know  how  difficult  it  is  to  rouse  you  with  none  of  the 
usual  —  er  —  appliances. 

SLEEPING  BEAUTY.  I  will  be  very  careful,  Ella  dear.  Ah,  what 
a  deliciously  comfortable  looking  chair!  (To  Gregory)  May 
I?  (He  bows  and  draws  chair  out)  Thank  you  so  much. 
(She  sinks  into  chair.  Gregory  sits  beside  her.  She  regards 
him  with  a  slow  smile)  How  very  charming  and  original 
your  —  er  —  floral  decorations  are,  Mr.  —  er 


210  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

[Gregory  looks  uneasily  round,  then,  noticing  the  direction  of  her 
gaze,  puts  his  hand  to  his  head  and  discovers  his  bluebell  wreath, 
which  he  tears  off  in  confusion. 

GREGORY.     I  —  er  —  ha,  hum  —  bless  my  soul  —  ha!     Phew! 

SLEEPING  BEAUTY.  But  what  a  pity  to  take  it  off!  I  was 
thinking  how  well  you  looked  in  it. 

CINDERELLA  (to  Caroline).  What  a  brilliant  conversationalist 
your  brother  must  be.  I  have  never  seen  dear  Rosabel  so 
animated. 

[The  gate  bell  rings.  All  turn  their  heads.  Enter  a  Telegraph 
Boy.  Molly  starts  forward  with  a  stifled  squeak  of  alarm.  The 
Boy  advances  toward  her. 

BOY.     Telegram  for  Miss 

CINDERELLA  (quietly  intercepting  telegram}.  For  me.  Thank 
you.  (Opens  it  slowly,  her  eye  upon  Molly.  Then  speaks 
softly  to  her)  Don't  jump  about  like  that.  Keep  quiet. 
(Aloud)  Ah,  yes,  it's  all  right. 

BOY.     But  please,  mum 

CINDERELLA.  It's  all  right.  There  (gives  money).  Now,  run 
away,  child.  (Exit  Boy.  Reading)  M  —  m  —  m  —  please 
excuse  me.  I'm  such  a  busy  woman.  Telegrams  all  day 
long.  (As  she  elaborately  folds  up  paper  she  speaks  to  Molly 
in  a  low,  even  voice)  Listen,  Molly.  "At  the  corner  — 
twelve-thirty  —  George."  Did  you  hear? 

MOLLY  (in  soft  tones  of  rapture).  At  the  corner  —  twelve- 
thirty —  George! 

CINDERELLA  (passing  the  folded  paper  to  Molly) .     That's  it. 

CAROLINE.  But  how  strange  that  the  telegram  should  have 
found  you  here  at  Whitelands,  Lady  Vere! 

CINDERELLA.  Whitelands!  Is  the  name  of  this  place  White- 
lands? 

IMOGEN.    Yes,  Whitelands. 

CINDERELLA.     Now,  isn't  that  curious?     We  passed  a  motor 
in  difficulties  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago,  and  the  young 
gentleman  lying  underneath  asked  if  he  was  right  for  White  — 
oh! 
[Molly  knocks  over  a  chair  with  a  crash. 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies 

CAROLINE.     Really,  Molly  child! 

MOLLY.     So  sorry,  Aunt  Caroline. 

CINDERELLA  (softly  to  Molly).     Was  I  putting  my  foot  in  it? 

MOLLY.     You  were  —  a  little. 

CINDERELLA  (continuing).  He  asked  if  he  were  right  for  White 
Gates.  Now  I  think  it's  so  funny  that  he  should  ask  for 
White  Gates  and  that  this  should  be  White  Lands.  Isn't  it? 
He,  he,  he!  (Softly)  Laugh,  children  —  for  goodness*  sake, 
laugh ! 

THE  CHILDREN  (mechanically).     Ha,  ha,  ha! 

MOLLY  (slightly  hysterical).     Ha,  ha,  ha! 
[Goes  into  peal  after  peal  of  laughter. 

CAROLINE.     Molly ! 

IMOGEN.  You  had  better  go  and  drink  a  little  water,  child, 
hadn't  you? 

MOLLY.     Yes,  Aunt  Imogen.     I  —  ha  —  ha!  —  I'm  going. 
[Exit  quickly  in  much  confusion. 

TOMMY.     Whatever's  the  matter  with  Molly,  Pinkie? 

PINKIE.  7  don't  know.  I  saw  Cook  like  that  once.  She  said 
it  was  the  kitchen  fire. 

TOMMY.  I  expect  it's  just  Grown-upness.  I  told  you  she  was 
worse  this  morning.  And  she  didn't  remember  Princess 
Cinderella  one  bit. 

PINKIE.  Well,  it  is  different,  seeing  her  like  this.  (Capturing 
Cinderella)  Cinderella  dear,  I  don't  think  this  is  a  very 
nice  party.  You're  not  talking  to  us  at  all. 

CINDERELLA.  My  dear,  I  had  to  make  my  way.  Now  I'm 
free  of  the  house,  and  we'll  do  better  next  time.  I'll  bring 
Peerless  instead  of  Rosabel,  who  certainly  is  a  little  heavy, 
but  she  was  so  anxious  to  come,  poor  thing.  Where  is  she, 
by  the  bye?  Come  along,  Rosabel,  we  must  be  going. 
(The  Sleeping  Beauty  and  Uncle  Gregory  are  discovered  both 
blandly  asleep  in  their  garden  chairs.  Gregory  wakes  with  a 
start  at  Cinderella9 s  approach;  his  companion  still  slumbers) 
O,  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  have  let  her  go  to  sleep?  O,  how 

unfortunate !     Now  she  will  never  wake  unless (Looks  at 

Gregory  and  goes  into  irrepressible  peals  of  laughter)     I  beg 


A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

your  pardon !  So  rude  of  me  —  no  laughing  matter  —  Cer- 
tainly not.  (Looks  at  Gregory  again  and  collapses)  O  dear! 
O  dear!  Rosabel  dear,  do  rouse  yourself.  No,  it's  not  a 
bit  of  use !  She  will  never  wake  unless 

THE  AUNTS.     Yes  —  yes?     Anything  we  can  do? 

CINDERELLA  (with  a  squeak  of  laughter).     Unless  —  a  gentle- 
man kisses  her ! 

CAROLINE.     Dear  me!    How  extremely  awkward! 

CINDERELLA.     Yes,  isn't  it?     And  the  habit  seems  incurable. 
She  has  seen  any  amount  of  men  about  it. 

CAROLINE.     I  should  have  thought  that  the  fewer  men  she  saw 
about  it  the  better. 

CINDERELLA.     Your  brother  has  such  a  kind  expression.     I  am 
sure  he  wouldn't  mind 

GREGORY.     Eh?     Why  —  bless  my  soul  —  er  —  ha  hum! 

CINDERELLA.     Of  course,  if  it  is  any  trouble  I'll  call  the  coach- 
man.    (Calls)     Johnson ! 

GREGORY.     No,  no !     Certainly  not  —  'm  sure  —  'f  I  can  be  of 
any  use 

CAROLINE.     Gregory ! 

IMOGEN  (softly).     Well,  Caroline,  we  cannot  have   the  woman 
left  planted  there  in  our  garden  chair. 

CINDERELLA.     You're  sure  you  don't  mind?     How  kind  of  you ! 

GREGORY.     Not  at  all  —  not  at  all.     Er  —  shall  I  —  ha  hum  — 
begin? 

CINDERELLA.     //  you  please. 

[Gregory  kisses  the  Sleeping  Beauty,  who  slowly  opens  her  eyes. 

SLEEPING    BEAUTY.     Where    am    I?    Ah    yes,    I    remember. 
(Looking  at  Gregory)     Ella  dear,  did  this  gentleman? 

CINDERELLA.      Yes. 

SLEEPING  BEAUTY  (quite  frankly  to  Gregory).     Thank  you  so 

much. 

[Shakes  hands  with  him. 
CAROLINE.     Well!     I'm  sure! 
GREGORY.     Not  at  all.     Not  at  all.     Don't  mention  it  —  a  most 

agreeable  woman,  that! 
CINDERELLA.    Now,  Rosabel  dear,  we  must  be  going.     I'm  sure 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  213 

we're  dreadfully  late  already.     (To  Gregory)     Could  you  tell 

me  the  correct  time? 
GREGORY.     Close  upon  twelve. 
CINDERELLA.    Good     gracious!      (Seizing     Sleeping     Beauty) 

Come  along,   darling!     Good-bye,   Miss  —  er,   Mr. — er  — 

50  pleased  to  have  —  so  sorry  I  can't  —  er  —  (Softly  to  Pinkie 

and  Tommy)     Don't  tell,  children;   it  has  been  such  fun. 

Come  out  and  look  at  Johnson.     Good-bye,  good-bye. 

[All  accompany  her  to  the  gate  except  Gregory.     The  Sleeping 

Beauty  turns  back. 

SLEEPING  BEAUTY.     But  I  haven't  said  good-bye  to 

CINDERELLA.     Come  along  —  come  along. 

[Disappears  through  the  gate,  followed   by  the  others.     The 

Sleeping  Beauty  comes  slowly  back  to  Gregory.     Plaintive  music. 

DUET 

SLEEPING   BEAUTY. 

Ah,  sweet  is  the  kiss  of  the  dawn 

To  the  daisies  that  dream  on  the  lawn. 

GREGORY. 

On  the  lawn.     Exactly  so. 

SLEEPING   BEAUTY. 

And  sweet  is  the  kiss  of  the  breeze 
As  it  whispers  of  love  to  the  trees. 

GREGORY. 

Yes,  I  like  a  nice,  freshening  blow. 

SLEEPING   BEAUTY. 

But  a  sweetness  far  keener  than  this 
There  lies  in  the  tremulous  bliss 
Of  a  lover's  awakening  kiss. 
GREGORY  (thoughtfully). 

Well,  there  possibly  might,  you  know. 
On  giving  the  point  my  attention, 

I  find  I  am  able  to  state 
That  the  samples  of  sweetness  you  mention 
Are  duly  proportionate. 


214  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

SLEEPING   BEAUTY. 

Ah,  hearts  that  have  met  but  to  part, 
How,  how  may  they  soften  the  smart? 

GREGORY. 

I  could  not  exactly  say. 

SLEEPING   BEAUTY. 

Could  your  heart  ever  learn  to  forget 
This  day,  when  our  twain  hearts  met? 
GREGORY  (referring  to  paper). 

On  Wednesday,  First  of  May. 

SLEEPING   BEAUTY. 

For  the  kiss  that  has  sealed  you  ks  mine 
I  wear  on  my  brow  for  a  sign. 

GREGORY. 

If  you  really  can't  manage  to  dine 

Won't  you  look  in  again  some  day? 
If  you  don't  prefer  Misses  to  Misters, 

Whenever  our  way  you  may  be, 
Don't  trouble  to  ask  for  my  sisters, 

But  merely  enquire  for  me. 
[Gregory  repeats  refrain,  Sleeping  Beauty  joining. 

SLEEPING   BEAUTY. 

As  I  don't  prefer  Misses  to  Misters 

(There  are  not  many  ladies  who  do;, 
I  will  merely  leave  cards  for  your  sisters, 

And  only  enquire  for  you. 

[The  two  gaze  solemnly   in  silence   at   each   other.    Reenter 
Cinderella  hastily,  followed  by  the  Children. 
CINDERELLA.     Good  gracious,  Rosabel,  are  you  never  —  O,  I  beg 

your  pardon! 
SLEEPING  BEAUTY  (with  great  suavity).     I  am  quite  ready,  Ella 

dear. 
CINDERELLA.     Then  do  come  along. 

[Runs  out,  dragging  the  Sleeping  Beauty,  the  Children  running 
with  her  to  the  gate. 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  215 

THE  CHILDREN.     Good-bye.     Good-bye. 

CINDERELLA    (without).     Good-bye.     I    have    enjoyed    myself. 

Drive  on,  Johnson.     Good-bye. 

[Reenter    Caroline   and  Imogen,    who   walk   down.     Gregory 

is  now  reading  a  book. 
CAROLINE.     Well,  I  never  knew  such  a  morning!     I  am  in  a 

perfect  whirl.     And  really,  Gregory,  I  do  think  you  might 

exert  yourself  a  little  more  when  we  have  company. 
GREGORY.     Er  —  bless  my  soul,  Caroline,  one  must  —  ha,  hum 

—  reserve  a  few  hours  for  —  hum,  ha  —  study. 
CAROLINE.     Study!     (Looking  over  his  shoulder)     One  of  Ele- 

nour's  French  Readers  —  La  Belle  au  Bois  Dormante. 
TOMMY.     What's  that? 
PINKIE.     The  Sleeping  Beauty  in  the  Wood. 
GREGORY  (in  some  confusion).     Just  —  hum,  ha  —  brushing  up 

my  French  a  bit,  y'know. 
CAROLINE  (out  of  patience).     Really ,    Gregory!     But  it's  a  most 

extraordinary  morning!     I've  never  so  much  as  looked  at 

Josephine's  books! 
IMOGEN.     And  Anne  must  almost  have  finished  the  linen  by 


now! 

[The  Aunts  go  hastily  into  the  house.  As  they  retire,  fairy 
music  sounds  softly,  and  Pickle,  Whisper  and  Twinkle  dance 
out  of  the  wood  singing  their  refrain  of  Act  I. 

Through  the  world  the  fairies  go 

To  and  fro. 
Lightly  o'er  the  dappled  grass 

Trip  and  pass. 

PINKIE.     O  Pickle  —  Whisper  —  we  have  had  such  a  morning! 

Sleeping  Beauty  called,  and  Cinderella,  and  Molly  had  a  sort 

of  fit  like  Cook,  and 

PICKLE.     And  now  something  else  is  going  to  happen,  and  we 

have  all  come  to  see  the  fun. 
TOMMY.     Is  it  going  to  happen  now? 
TWINKLE.     Yes  —  almost  directly. 
PICKLE.     Well,  Pinkie,  we  all  rather  liked  your  elderly  friend 


£16  A   Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

last  night,  but  I   may  as  well  tell  you  at  once  that  she 

won't  do. 

PINKIE.     Won't  do?     Molly? 
PICKLE.     O,  not  at  all.     She  will  come  back  to  us  some  day  — 

quite  soon,  I  fancy  —  but  just  now  she  must  go. 
WHISPER.     What's  more,  she's  going. 
TOMMY.     I  don't  think  she  is.     Aunt  Caroline  said 

[Molly  appears  on  terrace  in  a  most  becoming  hat  and  motor 

cloak. 

MOLLY.     S-s-s-t!     S-s-s-t!     (All  turn)     Where  are  they? 
PINKIE.     Who? 

MOLLY.       AuntS. 

THE  CHILDREN  (pointing   violently).     In  there  —  in  doors  —  in 

the  house! 

MOLLY.     Will  you  swear? 
THE  CHILDREN.     Honest  Injun. 

[Molly  retires  for  a  minute,  during  which  a  bumping  sound  is 

heard.     All  listen  breathlessly.     Molly  reappears. 
MOLLY.     O,  I  believe  I've  strained  my  wrist! 
PICKLE   (politely).     Good  morning!     It's  hardly  worth  while 

to  pretend  not  to  see  us  now  that  you're  just  off. 
MOLLY.     O  —  er  —  it's  Fairy  Pickle  again,  I  suppose.     You 

are  so  confusing  to  me  somehow. 

PICKLE  (presenting  a  paper).     This  belongs  to  you,  I  think. 
MOLLY  (with  a  jump).     O!     My  telegram!     (Re-reading)     "At 

the  corner,   George."     How  dreadful  of  me!     I'm  always 

dropping  things. 
PICKLE.     Then  I  think,  if  you  intend  to  drop  that  telegram 

any  more,  you  might  improve  upon  it. 
MOLLY.     Improve? 
PICKLE.     Well,  don't  you  think  it  would  read  better  if  you 

altered  "At  the  corner"  to  "At  the  station"?     It's  in  the 

opposite  direction. 
MOLLY  (in  awe).     Pickle!     What  perfectly  splendid  ideas  you 

have!     Tommy,  wbere's  your  india-rubber? 
PINKIE.     But  Molly  —  would  he  like  it?    You  know  you  said 

he  would  not  have  you  stoop  to  deceit. 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies  217 

MOLLY  (hurt,  but  gentle).  Pinkie  dear,  you  are  only  a  little  girl 
and  cannot  be  expected  to  understand  such  things.  But  this 
is  my  telegram,  and  no  one  else  has  any  right  to  read  it  —  so 
I  am  perfectly  justified  in  assuming  that  whatever  I  write  in 
it  will  remain  strictly  private. 

PINKIE.     I  see. 

MOLLY  (to  Pickle).    And  then  I  drop  it  —  there! 
[Places  it  carefully  on  the  path  with  pebble  upon  it.^_ 

TOMMY  (shocked).     But  —  I  say,  Molly!     Isn't  that 

MOLLY  (even  more  gently).  Tommy  dear,  confirmed  habits  are 
not  to  be  corrected  in  a  day.  I  always  have  dropped  things. 

TOMMY.     I  see. 

MOLLY  (restless).  It  must  be  more  than  half  past  twelve. 
Tommy!  Look  down  the  road,  will  you?  Do  you  see 
anything? 

TOMMY.     No.     Only  a  motor  car  waiting  at  the  corner. 

MOLLY.     Tommy  —  is  there  —  is  there  anybody  in  the  car? 

TOMMY.     There's  a  gentleman. 

MOLLY.     A  young  gentleman? 

TOMMY.     No.     An  old  gentleman. 

MOLLY.     An  old  gentleman? 

TOMMY.  Yes,  quite  old.  (Molly  depressed)  Quite  as  old  as 
you  are  —  older. 

MOLLY  (much  relieved).     Tommy  —  are  you  pretty  strong? 

TOMMY.     Feel  my  muscle. 

MOLLY.     Well  —  will  you  give  me  a  hand  with  something  — 
and  —  do  you  mind  not  clumping  your  boots? 
[Molly  and  Tommy  disappear  into  the  house. 

PINKIE.     Molly  —  is  it  a  s'prise? 

MOLLY  (reappearing).     Ye-es.     I  think  perhaps  it  is. 

[She  and  Tommy  together  carry  a  box  out  of  the  house.  Green- 
robed  Fairies  begin  to  creep  from  the  trees  and  bushes,  their  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  departing  Molly.  Dimly,  in  the  wood,  appear 
the  figures  of  the  Fairy  Tale  Heroines,  again  in  their  dress  of 
Once  upon  a  Time. 

CINDERELLA.  Well,  good  luck,  Molly.  I've  come  to  see  you 
off,  though  you  don't  believe  in  me  one  bit. 


218  A   Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

BEAUTY.     And  so  have  I,  though  I'm  sure  you  don't  remember 

me. 
SLEEPING  BEAUTY.     And  I,  though  you  wouldn't  so  much  as 

look  at  me  this  morning. 
PICKLE.    And  all  of  us,  though  she  always  pretends  not  to 

see  us. 
MOLLY  (dropping  her  end  of  the  box  with  a  'dump).    O,  I'm  so 

sorry,  dear  Fairy  Folk.     Of  course  I  see  you  —  I  see  you  as 

well  as  ever.     But  I'm  afraid  that  if  people  —  if  —  if  George 

knew,  he  would  think  I  was  not  grown  up. 
CINDERELLA.     My  dear,  George  likes  to  consider  you  a  child. 

It  enables  George  to  overlook  the  fact  that  he  ought  to  be  in 

short  petticoats  himself. 
BEAUTY.     Besides,  we  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  George  lately. 

He  has  dropped  in  very  frequently. 

MOLLY.     Well,   I    must    say    I    think    he   might    have    men- 
tioned it! 
SLEEPING  BEAUTY.     Don't  be  alarmed,  dear.     I  am  not  in  the 

least  his  style. 
CINDERELLA.     Besides,  we  are  all  married  women,  so  he  couldn't 

possibly  care  about  us. 

MOLLY.     No.     No,  I  forgot  that.     Of  course  he  couldn't. 
PICKLE.     And  now  you  must  go,  dear.     See,  we  have  all  come 

to  say  good-bye. 

[A  ripple  of  white,  waving  hands  runs  over  the  green-clad  fairy 

crowd. 
MOLLY.     But  shall  we  never  meet  again  ?    O,  Pickle,  shall  I  never 

be  in  Fairyland  again? 
PICKLE  (gravely).     There  are  more  Fairylands  than  one,  but  the 

same  King  rules  over  them  all.  r 

MOLLY.     And  his  name  is ? 

PICKLE  (kissing  her).     I  think  you  are  going  to  find  out. 

[Molly  and  Tommy  raise  the  box  and  stagger  down  the  path  to 

the  gate.     As  they  go  the  fairies'  Song  of  Farewell  rises. 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies 


219 


CINDERELLA. 


BEAUTY. 


SLEEPING    BEAUTY. 


SONG 

Ah,  ye  to-day 
Whose  hearts  are  young, 
Who  speak  the  tongue 
Of  babe  and  fay, 
Ye  have  not  flung 
Your  wings  away. 

While,  grave  and  pale 
The  learned  pore 
O'er  tomes  of  yore 
Till  dim  eyes  fail; 
Each  gathered  lore 
But  adds  a  veil. 

Ah,  over-wise 

With  knowledge  vain 

Who  search  in  pain 

For  Paradise, 

Through  childhood's  eyes 

Look  forth  again! 

What  lies  at  hand 
Why  seek  afar 
In  distant  star, 
On  far-off  strand? 
Where  children  are 
Is  Fairyland. 


[Molly  and  Tommy  have  disappeared.     Pinkie  stands  watching 

by  the  gate.     Reenter  Tommy  alone. 
PINKIE.     Tommy  —  she  never  said  good-bye  to  me ! 
TOMMY.     Didn't  she?     She  never  was  really  our  sort.     I  tell 

you  what,  Pinkie.     It's  a  jolly  good  thing  she's  gone.     She's 

a  Grown-up. 
PINKIE.     O,  Tommy,  no! 


CHORUS. 


A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

TOMMY.  She  is.  And  now  she'll  marry,  or  some  rot  of  that 
sort,  and  she'll  be  an  Aunt  before  she  can  look  round.  You 
see  if  she  isn't. 

PINKIE.  Of  course  she'll  marry.  So  shall  I.  All  girls  do.  But 
she  won't  be  an  Aunt!  —  O,  Tommy,  will  she?  (Almost  in 
tears)  0  Pickle,  Molly's  gone  away  to  be  an  Aunt! 

PICKLE.  Well,  Pinkie,  Aunthood  is  a  condition  that  must  be 
faced.  It  might  come  to  anybody.  Besides,  there  are 
Aunts  and  Aunts. 

[Loud  voices  are  heard  in  the  house.  The  window  flies  open, 
and  Caroline  and  Imogen  burst  into  the  garden  talking 
violently. 

IMOGEN.     No,  Caroline! 

CAROLINE  (in  gasps').  Not  three  minutes  ago  —  yes,  quite  dis- 
tinctly —  from  the  schoolroom  window  —  yes,  Anne. 

IMOGEN.     But  Caroline,  Molly 

CAROLINE.  Yes,  Molly  —  with  her  box  —  Thomas  helping  — 
Anne  saw  them,  I  tell  you!  (Both  talk  at  once)  Good 
heavens!  And  Elvira  said  she  was  such  a  sweet,  bid- 
dable girl,  and  would  be  no  trouble,  and  quite  good  at  plain 
sewing  and  parish  work,  and  never  wanted  early  tea  in  her 
bedroom,  and 

IMOGEN.  Good  heavens!  And  Timmins  the  butcher  in  the 
kitchen  at  this  moment,  and  she's  sure  to  meet  the  fish- 
monger and  Mrs.  Dobson  down  the  road;  and  now  it  will 

be  all  over  the  place  that  our  niece 

[Caroline  sees  and  pounces  upon  the  telegram. 

CAROLINE.  Ah,  a  telegram!  A  clue!—  "At  the  station, 
twelve-thirty,  George."  Imogen,  my  bonnet!  Your  hat! 
(As  Imogen  flies  into  the  house)  There  is  no  train  till  twelve- 
forty-five!  We  shall  come  up  with  themf 
[Snatches  hat  from  the  returning  Imogen  and  rushes  for  the 
gate.  Imogen  claps  on  bonnet,  discovers  strings  and  dashes 
after  Caroline,  shouting. 

IMOGEN.     Caroline!     Caroline!    You've   got   my   hat!  —  I've 
got  your  —  Caroline ! 
[Her  voice  dies  away  down  the  lane. 


Pinkie  and  the  Fairies 

THE  CHILDREN  (amazed).    But  —  what's  the  matter  with  them? 

What's  it  all  about? 
PICKLE.     This  is  what  is  called  the  Love  Interest,  my  dears. 

Now  the  story  is  going  to  begin. 

[The  elfin  Chorus  of  Farewell  swells  up  again  as  the  Fairies 

fade  slowly  away  into  the  wood. 

CHORUS 

Ah,  ye  to-day 
Whose  hearts  are  young, 
Who  speak  the  tongue 
Of  babe  and  fay, 
Ye  have  not  flung 
Your  wings  away. 
Those  wings  have  fanned 
That  space  apart 
Set  on  no  chart 
By  mortal  hand; 
The  Young  of  Heart 
Hold  Fairyland! 

[During  the  chorus  Uncle  Gregory  drops  his  paper  and  sleeps 
profoundly.  Tommy  gazes  moodily  at  him,  his  hands  in  his 
pockets.  Pinkie  walks  thoughtfully  towards  the  house  and  dis- 
appears through  the  window.  As  the  Fairy  Voices  die  away,  her 
five-finger  exercises  recommence  with  great  vigour,  and  the  curtain 
falls. 

THE   END 


ABOUT  PUNCH  AND  JUDY 

Of  all  the  plays  I  ever  saw, 

There's  none  like  Punch  and  Judy; 
The  utter  disregard  for  law 

Is  far  from  goody-goody. 

The  roguish  eyes,  the  beaked  nose, 
The  funny  cap  and  goggles, 

The  way  Punch  relishes  his  blows, 
The  way  his  wife  he  joggles,  — 

It  takes  me  back  to  days  of  old 

When  Punch  and  Judy,  maybe, 

Were  not  so  rough,  and  did  not  scold, 
And  also  had  no  baby; 

When  Punch  from  Italy  first  came 
To  English  Will  and  Mary, 

When  he  had  won  no  British  fame, 
And  was  not  so  contrary; 

When  Punch's  face  had  no  such  smile 
As  later  marked  the  fellow  — 

When  he  was  not  so  full  of  guile, 
But  more  like  Pulcinello. 

'Twas  then,  to  please  the  common  folk  — 
With  manners  none  to  brag  on  — 

He  swapped  his  manners  for  a  joke, 
A  theater  for  a  w'agon. 

He  traveled  through  the  British  Isles, 
With  squeaky  tones  most  roistrous, 

His  nose  and  chin  both  touched  in  smiles  - 
And  he  became  quite  boistrous. 


A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

But  though  his  manners  were  not  nice, 
His  jokes  somewhat  ambitious; 

And  though  'twas  said  he  favoured  Vice, 
Because  his  acts  were  vicious,  — 

Of  all  the  plays  I  ever  saw, 

There's  none  like  Punch  and  Judy; 
The  utter  disregard  for  law 

Is  far  from  goody-goody. 

'Tis  not  that  I  don't  care  for  law  — 
For  law  is  as  it  should  be  — 

And  what  I  see  and  what  I  saw, 
Are  not  as  bad  as  could  be  — 

'Tis  only  that  the  wooden  chap  — 
His  wooden  wife  and  baby  — 

Have  lived  so  long  without  mishap, 
They  should  live  longer  —  maybe. 

And  I  would  hate  to  feel  this  book 

Was  only  goody-goody; 
To  think  that  children  would  not  look 

At  ancient  Punch  and  Judy. 


PUNCH  AND  JUDY 

AS  PERFORMED  IN  ALL  NURSERIES  IN  EUROPE,  ASIA, 
AFRICA,  AND  AMERICA 


PUNCH  AND  JUDY 

PUNCH  (looking  over  curtain).  Hullo!  there,  I've  got  my  eye  on 
you.  Here  we  are  again,  all  a-blowing  and  a-growing.  Wait 
till  I've  got  my  boots  on  and  I'll  be  with  you.  (Sings) 

"I'm  such  a  good-natured  old  chap, 
I  wear  a  nice  hump  on  my  back, 

I've  a  beautiful  nose, 

And  a  fine  suit  of  clothes, 
And  a  stick  —  to  fetch  you  a  whack."    (Comes  on  stage) 

How  de  do?    I'm  in  a  good  humour  this  morning;  got  out  of 

bed  the  righjt  side.  (Dances  round  the  stage.    Sings)    (<  See  me 

dance  the  pollsQ"    (Calls  below)    Judy !    Judy !  !    Judy,  Judy, 

Judy,  come 

JUDY  (pops  up).   Now,  Mr.  Punch,  I'm  busy, — can't  wait  a 

second.     There's  this  and  that,  and  t'other  and  which,  all 

got  to  be  done  first.    Now,  what  do  you  want? 
PUNCH.    Oh !  nothing,  only  wanted  to  know  if  you'd  like  a  nice 
—  new  —  beautiful  silk  dress,  but  as  you  are  busy  it's  of  no 

consequence.    Any  time  next  year  will  do. 
JUDY  (sidling  up  a  little).   Punchy- wunchy,  dear  old  Punchy, 

I'm  not  so  very,  very  busy.    Let's  go  at  once. 
PUNCH.   Well!  that  will  do,  if  you  can't  be  sooner.    But  give 

me  a  kiss  first.     [They  hug  each  other  affectionately  and  then- 

dance  a  jig. 

JUDY.   Now  I  will  go  and  dress  the  baby. 
PUNCH.   And  don't  forget  to  put  a  clean  collar  on  Toby.    [Toby 

barks. 
PUNCH  (calling).   Toby,  Toby,  old  dog Here!  cats,  rats, 

seize  'em!  fetch  'em!    Whoop! 

TOBY.     BOW-WOW-WOW. 

PUNCH.   Come  here!    Shake  hands,  Toby;  you're  a  nice,  good- 


A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

tempered  dog;   (Toby  snarls')   with  such  a  cheerful   smile. 

(Toby  snaps  at  his  nose}     Oh,  my  nose!  my  best  Sunday 

nose,  my  only  nose. 

[Enter  Jim  Crow. 
JIM.   Yah!    Yah!    Yah!    Golly!    Massa  Punch,  how  am  you 

dis  mawnin'? 
PUNCH.   Yah!  Yah!  Yah!   "woolly  head,"  how  are  you  last 

Saturday  fortnight?     Why  don't  you  wash  your  face?  — 

you're  as  black  as  a  sweep. 
JIM.   Don't  you  call  names,  old  lobster-nose! 
PUNCH.   What?     You  Jack-in-the-box,  would  you  insult  my 

beautiful  nose?    [Aims  a  blow  at  him  with  his  stick. 
JIM.   We  are  not  taking  any  dis  mawnin'.    Call  again.    [Punch 

calls  again,  but  misses  him.     Jim  sings. 

"Turn  about,  and  wheel  about,  and  do  just  so, 
And  every  time  I  turn  about,  I  jump,  Jim  Crow." 

[Punch  continues  to  strike  at  him9  but  misses.    Exit  Jim  Crow. 

Enter  Punch  on  a  Donkey. 

PUNCH.   Whoa!    Neddy,  tuppence  more  and  up  goes  the  don- 
key.    (Donkey  kicks  and  throws  Punch  off)     Oh,  I'm  killed! 

I'm  dead!    Doctor!    Doctor!    [Enter  Doctor. 
DOCTOR.   Hah!   my   good   friend   Punch.      How's   my   friend 

Punch?    Let  me  feel  your  tongue. 
PUNCH.    Oh!    I'm  dead! 
DOCTOR.   No,  no!    Not  so  bad  as  that.    Let  me  look  at  your 

pulse. 
PUNCH.   Yes!  dead  as  a  door-nail.     All  my  bones  are  broken 

and  I  can't  move.    [Kicks  the  Doctor  in  the  eye. 
DOCTOR.   How  long  have  you  been  dead? 
PUNCH.   Three  weeks. 
DOCTOR.   And  when  did  you  die? 
PUNCH.   Oh!  half-an-hour  ago!    I've  been  knocked  down  and  I 

want  a  "Pick-me-up." 
DOCTOR.   Oh!    I'll  give  you  a  tonic,  such  a  good  one!    (Fetches 

stick)     "Before  taken  to  be  well  shaken."     [Shakes  Punch 

and  then  whacks  him. 


Punch  and  Judy 

PUNCH.   Only  one  dose  at  a  time,  Doctor;  it's  strong  medicine. 

DOCTOR.  Oh!  you're  not  cured  yet.  (Whacks  Punch  again) 
Physic !  Physic !  Physic ! 

PUNCH.  Yes,  I  am,  and  I'll  pay  your  bill.  (Takes  the  stick  and 
knocks  the  Doctor  down)  That's  the  way  to  pay  the  Doctor. 
(Calls)  Judy!  Judy!  Judy!  Where's  the  baby? 

JUDY.  Here,  Punchy,  here's  the  "pretty  ickle  sing."  Now, 
take  care  of  him  while  I  go  round  the  corner.  [Goes  round 
the  corner. 

PUNCH  (with  the  Baby,  sings).  "Don't  make  a  noise  or  else  you  II 
wake  the  baby.9'  It  was  a  popsey-wopsey.  Isn't  it  a  beauti- 
ful baby?  (Baby  squalls')  Stop  that  noise  —  you  two-penny 
doll.  (Sings)  "Hush-a-bye,  baby,  on  the  tree-top."  (Baby 
yells)  Go  to  mammy!  !  [Throws  Baby  out  of  window.  Enter 
Judy. 

JUDY.  Where's  the  child  —  where's  my  dear,  dear  —  darling  — 
Baby? 

PUNCH.   I  thought  you  caught  him.    I  threw  him  down  to  you. 

JUDY.  Oh!  you  cross-nosed,  hook-backed,  bandy-eyed,  hump- 
legged  old  villain,  take  that  —  and  that  —  and  —  that. 
[Beating  him  with  stick. 

PUNCH  (taking  stick  from  her).  There's  a  little  one  for  yourself. 
[Knocks  her  down.  Enter  Crocodile. 

PUNCH.   Hullo!    What  a  mouth  for  the  toothache.     (Rams  his 
staff  down  the  Crocodile's  throat)     Oh,   dear!  he  has  swal- 
lowed the  toothpick.    (Sings)    "Ri  tooral,  looral,  li-day." 
[Enter  Joey. 

JOEY  (poking  his  head  round  the  corner  and  disappearing  again). 
Tooral,  looral,  li-day. 

PUNCH.  Did  anybody  speak?  (Sings)  "Fol-de-rol,  tol-de-rol9 
fol-de-rol-day." 

JOEY.  No,  the  wind  blew.  Fol-de-rol,  tol-de-rol,  fol-de-rol- 
day.  Punchy!  Punchy!  Punchy! 

PUNCH  (looking  round  the  corner).  "Who  is  dat  a-calling  so 
sweet?"  [Joey  comes  up  with  the  dead  body  of  Judy  and  pokes 
it  in  Punch's  face. 

JOEY.   Punch! 


230  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

PUNCH.   Why,  I  settled  you  long  ago.     [Knocks  Judy  down. 

Joey  comes  up  with  the  body  of  the  Doctor  and  bobs  it  in 

Punch's  face. 
JOEY.   Punch ! 
PUNCH.   Hullo!     Here's  the  Doctor  come  for  his  bill  again. 

(Whacks  the  body,  and  suddenly  discovers  Joey  between  Judy 

and  the  Doctor)     Hullo!     (Tries  to  hit  him,  but  Joey  dodges) 

Shake  hands,  Joey!     I  wouldn't  hurt  you  for  the  world. 

(Aims  a  blow  at  him,  but  misses)    There,  it  didn't  hurt,  did 

it? 

JOEY.     No. 

PUNCH.   Nor  that,  nor  that,  nor  that?    [Aims  at  him,  but  misses. 

JOEY.   Not  a  bit;  didn't  feel  it. 

PUNCH.   Try  one  of  this  sort.    [Misses  again. 

JOEY.    Go  on  —  you  couldn't  hit  a  haystack. 

PUNCH.   Oh,  dear!    I  can't  hit  him  at  all.    [Aims  another  blow 

at  Joey,  but  hits  Jones,  who  has  just  popped  up.    Exit  Joey. 
JONES  (rubbing  his  head).   What  a  fortunate  fellow  I  am.     If 

there  is  anything  knocking  about  I'm  sure  to  come  in  for  it. 

Now,  Mr.  Punch,  where's  my  dog  Toby? 
PUNCH.   What  sort  of  dog  is  he  —  a  little  dog  with  a  tail  on 

one  end  and  a  head  on  the  other? 
JONES.   Yes. 

PUNCH.   Well,  that's  my  dog. 
JONES.    I  tell  you  he's  mine. 
PUNCH.   Will  you  fight  for  him? 
JONES.   Yes;  but  let's  fight  fair.    No  hitting  on  the  head  and 

no  hitting  on  the  body,  no  treading  on  the  toes. 
PUNCH.   All  right.    Come  on.    [H-its  Jones  on  the  nose. 
JONES.   I  say,  that's  against  the  rules.     (Calls  Toby)     Toby! 

Toby!  !     Toby!  !  !     Come  and  help  your  master.     [General 
fight. 

[Enter  Beadle. 
BEADLE.   Hullo!  Hullo!!  Hullo!!!    What's  all  this  noise  about? 

Move  on,  I  say. 

PUNCH.   Hullo !  Hullo ! !  Hullo ! ! !    Here's  another  guy. 
BEADLE.   Do  you  know  who  I  am? 


Punch  and  Judy  231 

PUNCH.   Oh!  you  are  Church  Warming  Pan,  Street  Sweeper, 

and  Black  Beetle  of  the  Parish.    So  am  I. 
BEADLE.    Pooh!    You  a  Beadle?    Show  me  your  authority. 
PUNCH.   There  it  is.    [Pokes  his  staff  into  him. 
BEADLE.   Don't  you  knock  me  about  in  that  manner.     [They 

fight. 

BEADLE.   There  goes  one. 
PUNCH.   Well,  and  there  goes  two. 
BEADLE.   That's  another  one. 
PUNCH.   There's  a  rubber  one. 
BEADLE.   Oh !  that's  a  topper. 
PUNCH.   And  that's  a  whopper.      (Knocks  him  out  of  sight) 

That's  the  way  to  serve  the  Beadle.    [Enter  Policeman. 
PUNCH.   Bobby,  what's  the  time?     (Sings)     "If  you  want  to 

know  the  time,  ask  a  policeman." 
POLICEMAN.   I'll  tell  you  the  time  —  it's  time  for  you  to  go  to 

prison. 

PUNCH.   Oh!  you're  too  fast,  and  I'm  not  going. 
POLICEMAN.   I've  an  order  in  my  pocket  to  lock  you  up. 
PUNCH.   And  I've  an  order  in  my  pocket  to  knock  you  down. 

(Does  so.    Enter  Beadle  and  Hangman)     Oh,  dear !    Oh,  dear ! 

I'm  so  sorry.    [They  arrest  him. 

PUNCH  IN  PRISON 

Enter  Hangman 

HANGMAN.   Now,  Mr.  Punch,  come  out  and  be  hanged!    I'm 

in  a  hurry. 
PUNCH.   But  I'm  not.    (Hangman  drags  him  out)     Oh!    I've  a 

bone  in  my  leg;  I  can't  walk. 
HANGMAN.   You  won't  want  to  walk  any  more.     Now,  have 

you  made  your  will? 
PUNCH.   No. 

HANGMAN.   Well,  we  can't  hang  you  till  you  make  your  will. 
PUNCH.    Then  I  won't  make  mine  at  all. 
HANGMAN.   Now,  no  nonsense,  put  your  head  in  here.    [Points 

to  noose. 


A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children* 

PUNCH.   Here? 

HANGMAN.   No,  higher  up. 

PUNCH.   Here? 

HANGMAN.   No,  lower  down. 

PUNCH.  Here?  Here?  Here?  [Putting  his  head  everywhere  but 
in  the  noose. 

HANGMAN.   No.    Stupid!    There!! 

PUNCH.   Well!    How  am  I  to  know?    I  never  was  hanged  before. 

HANGMAN.  That's  true.  Well!  I'll  show  you;  evidently  you 
don't  know  how  it's  done.  See  now,  you  put  your  head  in 
like  this.  [Puts  his  head  in  the  noose. 

PUNCH.  Yes;  and  you  pull  the  rope  like  this.  (Pulls  the  rope 
and  hangs  the  Hangman)  Oh!  it's  quite  easy  when  you  are 
used  to  it.  That's  the  way  to  serve  the  Hangman.  (Sings) 
"What  a  day  we're  having."  Now!  I  don't  care  for  any- 
body or  anything. 
[Enter  Ghost. 

GHOST.   Boo!  ooo!!  ooooo!! 

PUNCH.  Oh,  dear!  Here's  my  sweetheart  back  again.  Take  it 
away! 

GHQST.   Boo-oooo!!    Wmm-rrr!!    Ooo!! 

PUNCH.   Why  don't  you  speak  English? 

GHOST.   I  can't;  I'm  a  foreigner  and  come  from  Bogieland. 

PUNCH.  Well,  I  hope  you've  got  a  return  ticket.  What  do 
you  want? 

GHOST.  I've  come  for  Punch  —  the  man  who  was  to  be 
hanged. 

PUNCH.  Oh!  there  he  is.  (Points  to  Hangman)  Take  him 
away.  I  don't  want  him. 

GHOST.   Thank  you  —  much  obliged.    [Takes  Hangman. 

PUNCH.  Good-night.  (Crows)  "Cock-a-doodle-doo."  (Ghost 
disappears)  That's  the  way  to  get  rid  of  the  Ghost.  Well, 
they  are  all  gone  now.  I've  settled  all  my  enemies,  so  I'm 
going  to  live  in  peace  and  quiet.  Good-night,  little  boys 
and  girls!  Good-night,  everybody!  Good-night!  Good- 
night! 

THE   END 


Punch  and  Judy  233 

[There  is  another  very  clever  arrangement  of  "Punch  and  Judy,"  issued 
by  Samuel  French,  New  York  and  London.  It  is  prepared  by  E.  T.  Richmond. 
From  this,  I  am  given  permission  to  quote  the  following: 

The  first  requirement  of  the  performance  will  naturally  be  the  dramatis 
personal.  These,  in  the  drama  as  usually  played,  are  as  follows: 

1.  Punch.  2.  Judy.  3.  The  Baby.  4.  The  Dog  Toby.  5.  The  Clown. 
6.  The  Policeman  (or  Beadle).  7.  The  Hangman.  8.  The  Doctor.  9.  The 
Ghost.  The  head  for  each  character  must  be  carved  out  of  wood,  with  a 
tubular  cavity  in  the  neck  large  enough  to  admit  the  first  joint  of  the  per- 
former's forefinger.  Wooden  arms  and  legs  must  next  be  prepared.  These 
need  only  extend  to  the  elbow  and  knee,  and  the  Baby  will  require  arms  only. 
Appropriate  costumes  must  next  be  manufactured.  Mr.  Punch  will  have  the 
usual  conical  hat,  and  Judy  a  frilled  cap  with  black  ribbons.  The  body  of 
each  figure  is  a  mere  bag,  just  large  enough  to  admit,  through  an  opening 
behind,  the  hand  of  the  performer,  whose  forefinger  is  thrust  into  the  hollow 
of  the  neck,  and  the  thumb  and  second  finger  into  the  sleeves,  thereby  giving 
motion  to  the  arms. 

The  robes  of  the  various  characters  are  firmly  attached  to  the  respective 
heads,  and  the  arms  glued  just  within  the  lower  part  of  the  sleeves.  By  slip- 
ping his  hand  therefore  within  the  robe,  his  forefinger  being  inserted  into  the 
hole  in  the  neck,  and  his  thumb  and  middle  finger  into  the  sleeves,  as  above 
mentioned,  the  performer  not  only  keeps  the  robe  properly  distended,  but  is 
able  to  impart  the  requisite  appearance  of  vitality  to  the  figures. 

Having  described  the  characters,  it  next  becomes  necessary  to  say  a  few 
words  as  to  the  "stage"  whereon  they  perform.  Most  of  our  readers  will  be 
familiar  with  the  portable  theater  of  the  genuine  street  artists;  a  sentry-box- 
like  wooden  framework  with  a  green  baize  cover  within  which  the  performer 
stands,  while  a  movable  shelf  in  front  of  him  supports  the  box  which  contains 
the  puppets  and  other  "properties"  of  the  mimic  drama.  A  little  simple 
stage-carpentering  will  transform  the  domestic  clothes-horse  into  a  capital 
Punch-and-Judy  theater.  Some  sort  of  ornamental  framework  or  border 
should  be  tacked  all  round  the  outer  edge  of  the  opening,  by  way  of  a  kind 
of  proscenium,  and  a  slip  of  thin  board,  three  or  four  inches  in  width,  should 
be  nailed  horizontally  across  from  side  to  side,  to  form  the  stage.  The  remain- 
der should  be  covered  with  green  baize,  tammy,  or  any  other  available  ma- 
terial, reaching  to  the  ground.  The  structure  should  be  placed  against  a  wall, 
or  window  curtain,  which  will  close  its  vacant  side,  and  form  a  convenient 
background. 

Where  even  this  simple  arrangement  is  deemed  too  elaborate,  an  open  door 
with  a  slip  of  wood,  tacked  across  it  about  six  feet  from  the  floor,  and  a  table- 
cover  hanging  from  this  by  way  of  curtain,  will  serve  as  a  tolerable  makeshift. 
The  "properties"  of  the  drama  are  not  numerous.  They  consist  of  a  gal- 
lows, a  couple  of  wooden  sticks  about  a  foot  in  length  and  half  an  inch  in 
diameter,  and  an  instrument  known  as  the  "squeaker,"  which  is  said  to  be 


234          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

used  to  produce  those  peculiar  vocal  effects  in  which  Mr.  Punch  delights.  It 
consists  of  a  couple  of  pieces  of  tin,  each  about  an  inch  and  a  quarter  in  length 
and  three-quarters  in  breadth.  These,  which  are  slightly  curved  in  the  direc- 
tion of  their  length,  are  laid  one  against  the  other  (the  concave  faces  inwards), 
with  a  piece  of  tape  or  China  ribbon,  of  the  same  breadth,  stretched  tightly 
between  them,  and  the  whole  bound  firmly  together  with  thread.  This  in- 
strument is  placed  in  the  mouth,  and  is  asserted  to  produce  the  Root-i-too-ti- 
too!  and  other  eccentricities  of  the  Punch  language. 

It  is  customary  to  have  a  second  or  assistant  showman,  who  stands  outside 
the  theater  and  forms  the  orchestra,  for  which  purpose  he  is  supplied  with  a 
set  of  Pandean  pipes  and  a  drum,  or,  for  lack  of  these,  with  the  best  substi- 
tutes available.  In  a  drawing-room,  some  obliging  young  lady  at  the  piano- 
forte will  generally  render  the  performance  independent  of  his  musical  aid. 
His  duty  is  to  converse  with  Mr.  Punch,  to  "draw  him  out,"  to  elicit  his 
views  on  things  in  general,  and  his  own  domestic  arrangements  in  particular, 
and  last,  but  not  least,  by  judicious  repetition,  in  the  form  of  questions  or 
otherwise,  to  translate,  so  to  speak,  his  observations  to  the  audience.] 


ABOUT  THE  THREE  WISHES 

I  remember  once  seeing  a  puppet  show  —  you  who  have 
read  "Pinnochio"  recall  what  a  puppet  is  —  in  a  little  store 
far  down-town  in  New  York's  most  crowded  section.  It  was  a 
long,  bare  room,  unventilated  —  with  hard,  wooden  benches 
running  crosswise  from  wall  to  wall.  A  crowded  stage  at  one 
end  was  dimly  lighted  by  gas  jets,  and  the  footlights  threw 
strange  shadows  on  the  faces  and  figures  of  the  wooden  heroes 
and  heroines,  and  made  ghostlike  the  strings  by  which  they 
were  worked.  The  owner  of  these  puppets  earned  his  liveli- 
hood in  a  factory  by  day,  and  all  his  wages  went  into  his 
theater  by  night.  The  benches  were  but  half  filled  with  lovers 
of  the  ancient  art  of  puppetry,  and  Signer  —  for  he  was  an 
Italian  —  was  having  a  struggle  to  meet  expenses. 

His  small  son,  Michael  Angelo,  helped  in  the  show  business, 
but  whenever  he  had  spare  time  he  went  upstairs  —  where  the 
family  lived  —  and,  on  the  dining  table,  covered  with  a  dingy 
red  cloth,  the  dark-eyed  boy  drew  pictures  and  dreamed  of  his 
ambition  to  be  an  artist.  I  do  not  remember  whether  or  not 
he  drew  and  painted  scenes  of  mortal  combat,  such  as  filled 
the  stage  of  the  puppet  theater  below;  but  I  do  know  that  the 
tale  which  his  father  enacted,  part  after  part,  night  after  night, 
was  not  more  romantic  than  the  dreams  of  that  small  boy.  I 
remember  that  he  spoke  then  of  the  hope  of  someone  rescuing 
him  from  his  daily  chores,  and  whisking  him  away  to  Italy, 
where  he  might  draw  large  frescoes  for  churches*  like  the  mas- 
ters of  old. 

Salvatore  Cascio  loved  his  puppets,  and  he  may  still  love 
them  for  all  I  know.  There  was  a  time  in  the  past  when  every 
country  honoured  these  inanimate  figures,  gaily  painted  and 
brightly  dressed.  Even  in  ancient  Egypt,  marionettes  have 
been  found  in  the  excavations,  revealing  a  life  thousands  of 


23G  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

years  old.  Every  country  has  its  story  to  tell  of  puppet  shows 
and  showmen.  Mostly  they  were  popular  pastimes,  with  jug- 
glery and  dance  and  marvellous  trickery,  and  they  used  to 
travel  the  country  after  the  manner  of  Punch  and  Judy  long 
before  they  became  stationary  performances  in  a  roofed  the- 
ater. An  interesting  volume  by  Helen  H.  Josephs,  called  "A 
Book  of  Marionettes  ",  tells  the  history  of  these  strange  wooden 
creatures. 

It  is  not  necessary  for  you  to  know  the  curious  interest 
taken  in  marionettes  by  Maurice  Maeterlinck,  the  Belgian 
dramatist,  by  Gordon  Craig,  the  son  of  Ellen  Terry.  Nor  does 
it  matter  much  here  if  we  do  not  dwell  on  the  love  of  puppets 
shown  by  George  Sand,  the  French  novelist,  or  Anatole  France. 
Then,  too,  in  England,  puppets  have  been  championed  by 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  who  has  written  an  essay  about  them, 
"A  Penny  Plain  and  Two  Pence  Colored",  by  Arthur  Symons, 
the  poet,  and  Bernard  Shaw,  the  playwright.  Nor  does  it 
make  any  essential  difference  if  we  do  not  follow  the  interest 
in  puppet  shows  by  the  Little  Theaters  of  the  country,  —  many 
of  which  have  attempted  the  revival  of  the  ancient  form  very 
successfully. 

What  is  necessary  here  is  to  realize  that  one  of  the  most  dis- 
tinctive puppet  showmen  at  present  is  Mr.  Tony  Sarg,  yes, 
the  same  Mr.  Sarg  who  illustrated  this  book.  He  has  an  al- 
most uncanny  way  of  making  his  wooden  friends  human.  He 
is  always  experimenting  how  to  improve  his  puppets,  and  no 
one  is  better  versed  than  he  in  the  vagaries  of  his  dolls.  He 
has  collected  a  large  variety  of  them  around  him  —  there  is 
no  artist  who  has  a  larger  assortment  of  toys. 

In  selecting  a  play  used  by  him,  I  feel  that  I  have  the  best 
example  of  puppet  revival.  Mrs.  Williamson  has  worked  closely 
with  Mr.  Sarg,  and  has,  so  she  says,  invented  a  puppet  smile 
of  which  she  is  vastly  proud.  These  pullers  of  strings  are  con- 
tinually adding  to  their  tricks,  and  when  plays  are  written  for 
marionettes,  stage  business  is  put  in  for  the  purpose  of  sharp- 
ening ingenuity.  To  balance  grace  with  grotesqueness  is  a 
difficult  thing,  to  deal  with  transformation  scenes  such  as  are 


The  Three  Wishes  237 

to  be  found  in  Thackeray's  "The  Rose  and  the  Ring",  to  give 
reality  to  snake  charming,  oriental  dancing  and  jugglery  — 
merely  by  the  expert  pulling  of  strings  —  is  an  accomplish- 
ment few  puppet  enthusiasts  possess.  Hence  it  is  that  Mr. 
Sarg  has  won  a  deserved  reputation.  Nothing  thwarts  him; 
he  asks  his  dramatists  to  introduce  strange  tricks  and  fancies 
into  their  plays.  Mrs.  Williamson  writes  that  though  her 
adaptation  of  "The  Three  Wishes"  is  based  on  Count  F. 
Pocci's  version  of  the  legend,  which  he  wrote  for  the  famous 
Papa  Schmidt's  Munich  puppet  theater,  she  lias  put  in  much 
stage  business  for  the  especial  delight  of  Mr.  Sarg.1  In  other 
words  he  likes  complex  puppet  action.  And  for  that  reason 
he  is  anxious  to  give  an  arrangement  of  "Don  Quixote." 

He  drifted  into  the  puppet  life  through  his  love  for  toys. 
And  it  was  while  he  was  an  artist  in  London,  with  a  studio 
which  was  no  other  than  the  Old  Curiosity  Shop,  made  famous 
by  Charles  Dickens,  that  his  friend,  Dorothy  Neville,  who 
had  written  a  history  of  toys,  fired  his  imagination  for  pup- 
pets. So  you  may  say  that  this  friend  started  his  interest  in 
puppets,  just  as  his  grandparents  did,  who  left  him  their  col- 
lection of  toys.  What  he  did  in  his  studio  made  London  ar- 
tistic Bohemia  hail  him  as  a  novel  puppet  showman.  And  so, 
when  he  came  to  New  York,  Mr.  Winthrop  Ames,  the  theater 
manager,  engaged  him  for  a  season  at  the  Little  Theater,  where 
the  marionettes  made  their  professional  bow.  Since  which  time, 
Tony  Sarg's  puppets  have  grown  to  be  a  yearly  expectancy 
in  New  York  City.  His  repertory  has  allowed  the  fairy  ele- 
ment to  dominate;  his  puppets  have  floated  in  the  air,  his  ani- 

1  Mr.  Sarg  has  written  the  following  directions  which  may  help  in  understanding  the 
technical  tricks  introduced  into  "The  Three  Wishes." 

ACT  I.  The  Fairy  is  secluded  in  the  tree,  with  strings  and  wire  running  up  the  tree- 
trunk,  and  fastened  at  the  top,  out  of  sight;  another  string,  when  pulled,  releases  a  large 
enough  piece  of  tree-bark  to  fall  down,  in  order  to  enable  the  fairy  to  leave  the  tree. 

ACT  II.  Margaret  has  a  tiny  loop  fixed  to  her  nose;  through  this  a  string  leads  right 
into  a  pocket  of  her  apron,  where  lie  concealed  the  sausages  which  later  appear  on  her 
nose. 

The  sausages,  which  appear  suddenly  in  the  empty  plate  on  the  table,  are  let  down 
during  the  flashes  of  lightning;  they  hang  on  a  string,  and  they  disappear  the  way  they 
come. 

NOTE.  The  fairy's  body  consists  entirely  of  soft  flowing  material,  with  nothing  solid 
except  head  and  hands.  This  gives  her  lovely  grace  when  she  floats  in  mid-air. 


238  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

mals  have  moved  humourously  near  to  the  real  thing,  his  hu- 
man beings  have  gone  through  surprising  transformations. 
Such  novelty  has  attracted  not  only  the  young  but  the  old  to 
his  entertainments,  so  that  there  is  truth  in  his  advertisement 
that  his  plays  are  "for  children  from  six  to  sixty." 

Such  an  eager  artist  as  Mr.  Sarg,  with  the  dominant  enthu- 
siasm of  a  boy  about  him,  is  always  adapting  —  out  of  the 
past  —  some  of  the  folk  art  which  used  to  delight  the  young 
and  old  in  days  gone  by.  For  the  moving  picture  he  has  just 
completed  a  form  of  animated  silhouette,  based  on  ancient 
Chinese  Shadowgraphs,  or,  as  the  French  called  them,  after 
they  had  been  perfected  under  the  enthusiastic  hand  of  Le- 
mercier  de  Neuville,  Ombres  Frangaises.  At  the  famous  Pari- 
sian restaurant,  Chat  Noir,  these  plays  —  so  lovingly  described 
by  Anatole  France,  —  attained  a  delicacy  of  colour  which  sug- 
gested their  future  possibilities.  And  Mr.  Sarg  has  gone  back 
to  these  sources  for  his  inspiration. 

Thus,  with  his  puppets  —  and  his  puppet  theater  which  he 
is  devising  so  that  boys  and  girls  may  have  one  to  play  with  — 
and  his  shadow  pictures  —  he  is  doing  much  for  the  revival 
of  an  ancient  art.  How  I  wish  he  would  silhouette  Thack- 
eray's poem,  "A  Tragic  Story",  commencing 

"There  lived  a  sage  in  days  of  yore, 
And  he  a  handsome  pig-tail  wore; 
But  wondered  much  and  sorrowed  more 
Because  it  hung  behind  him." 

With  all  the  novel  devices  which  spring  to  life  in  his  studio, 
there  is  no  better  companion  for  entertainment  than  Mr.  Sarg. 
It  would  be  a  pleasure  to  concoct  a  puppet  play  with  him.  But 
the  next  best  thing  is  to  have  him,  with  his  facile  brush  and 
pen,  to  decorate  this  book. 


THE  THREE  WISHES 

A  PLAY  FOR  MARIONETTES  IN  TWO  ACTS 


BY  HAMILTON  Cf.  WILLIAMSON 

In  conjunction  with  Tony  Sarg 


Characters 

MARTIN,  a  Wood-cutter 
MARGARET,  the  Wood-cutter's  Wife 
CASPAR,  a  Friendly  Neighbour 
A  FAIRY 
A  RABBIT 
A  DOG 


COPYRIGHT,  1921,  BY  HAMILTON  G.  WILLIAMSON 


THE  THREE  WISHES 
ACT  I 

A  wood  scene,  showing  village  in  background.    Discover  a  Rab- 
bit sitting  on  tree  stump  near  big  oak  tree. 

RABBIT.  On  tree  stump,  eating,  listening,  moving  ears,  etc.,  etc.; 
finally  jumps  off  tree  stump  and  goes  off  stage. 

TWO  BUTTERFLIES.  Fly  across  stage;  finally  settle  on  little  hill 
and  fly  off  when  bird  appears. 

A  BIRD.  Circles  round  trees  and  is  still  flying  when  Martin  en- 
ters; then  they  fly  off. 

MARTIN.  With  axe  in  hand.  He  stops  a  moment,  watches  the 
Bird,  then  goes  up  to  the  oak  tree.  He  looks  up.  Then  he  lifts 
axe  far  enough  to  spit  in  hand.  He  spits.  Raises  axe  for  blow. 
Drops  axe  and  shakes  head  tiredly.  He  turns  round,  and  sits 
on  tree  stump,  and  begins  to  shake  his  head  in  despair.  His 
head  drops  quite  low. 

RABBIT.  Appears  from  behind  the  tree,  plays  a  bit  in  front  of 
tree,  and  is  suddenly  discovered  by  Martin. 

MARTIN   (beating  the  floor  with  his  hand).     Pss —  s  —  Ps — 
s-Ps- 

RABBIT.   Jumps  round  and  starts  flirting  with  Martin. 

MARTIN.     PSS S PSS Ps S 

RABBIT.   Dodges  behind  the  tree. 

MARTIN.    Rises  carefully  and  steps  gently  up  to  tree  as  if  ready  to 

catch  Rabbit. 
RABBIT.   As  soon  as  Martin  reaches  tree,  runs  behind  tree  up 

to  his  hole. 
MARTIN.    Changes  to  back  stage;  suddenly  discovers  Rabbit  and 

gives  chase. 

RABBIT.   Disappears  in  hole. 
MARTIN  (Kneels  down  and  tries  to  pull  Rabbit  out.    He  reaches 


242          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

deeper  and  deeper,  and  suddenly  putts  out  his  hand  with  a  cry). 
Ah  —    The  beggar  bit  me !    (He  walks  back  to  oak  tree  and, 
after  spitting  in  hand,  once  more  he  sings  and  chops) 
Tune,  "Ach  du  lieber  Augustin." 

"Oh,  I  got  a  tree  to  chop! 
Tree  to  chop !    Tree  to  chop ! 
Oh !    I  got  a  tree  to  chop, 
Tree  to  chop  down ! 

"  It  will  heat  my  oven  hot, 
Oven  hot,  oven  hot. 
It  will  heat  my  oven  hot, 
Bake  my  bread  brown." 

VOICE  (inside  the  tree).  Martin!  (Martin  gazes  about,  listens, 
then  lifts  axe)  Martin! 

MARTIN  (peering  around).  Margaret!  It  can't  be  wife  Mar- 
garet. Not  her  voice!  Too  early  for  dinner.  I  dreamed  it. 
[He  lifts  his  axe. 

VOICE.   Martin. 

MARTIN  (lowering  his  axe  and  looking  around).  Hey  there! 
Who's  calling? 

VOICE.   I'm  in  the  tree! 

MARTIN  (looking  up).   Where?    I  don't  see  you.    Comedown! 

VOICE.   I'm  inside  the  tree!    I  can't  get  out. 

MARTIN.   Inside  the  tree?    Nonsense! 

VOICE.   Listen,  Martin.    I'm  a  fairy,  an  unfortunate  fairy. 

MARTIN.   A  fairy !    Bah !    I  don't  believe  that ! 

VOICE.  It's  true!  I'm  Zimberimbimba.  Imprisoned  in  this 
tree  for  a  hundred  years ! 

MARTIN  (laughing).   And  the  moon  is  made  of  green  cheese! 

VOICE.  Don't  make  fun  of  me,  Martin!  It's  true.  Let  me 
out.  The  tree  is  hollow.  Cut  a  hole  in  the  bark. 

MARTIN.  How  do  I  know  you're  not  the  two-horned  devil  him- 
self, waiting  to  pop  out  and  catch  me! 

VOICE.  I'll  stick  my  hand  through  this  little  hole  where  a 
branch  has  fallen  out.  See? 


The  Three  Wishes  243 

MARTIN  (looks  up  and  then  walks  round  to  look  at  the  little  hand) . 
They  say  the  devil  has  claws,  and  it's  a  pink  little  hand.  It 
must  be  a  young  lady  fairy.  (Walks  back)  Well,  out  you 
come.  [He  spits  and  then  chops. 

VOICE.  Don't  cut  too  deep,  Martin.  You  might  hurt  me. 
Just  one  stroke  more. 

MARTIN.  Ay!  Ay!  (He  gives  final  blow,  bark  falls,  Fairy  ap- 
pears. Martin  drops  on  his  knees)  Wonderful  lady !  —  I 
never  saw  a  fairy  before !  —  Don't  hurt  me !  Don't  harm  me ! 

FAIRY.  Harm  you!  I  shall  reward  you.  Oh  —  how  good  to 
see  the  sun  after  a  hundred  years  of  darkness!  Tell  me, 
how  do  I  look?  I  used  to  be  extremely  pretty. 

MARTIN.   Beautiful!    And  very  young  looking  for  your  age. 

FAIRY.  What  a  relief!  You  see,  when  I  was  quite  a  young 
girl,  not  a  day  over  eight  hundred,  an  old  dwarf,  —  a  sor- 
cerer, —  wanted  to  marry  me.  He  was  hideous,  so,  of  course, 
I  refused.  He  flew  into  a  rage,  and  shut  me  in  this  tree  for 
a  hundred  years.  The  time  is  up,  to-day,  and  you've  set 
me  free!  Oh,  how  can  I  thank  you?  What  would  you  like 
as  a  reward? 

MARTIN.  I  don't  know  what  to  ask,  Ma'am.  My  brain  is 
spinning  like  a  squirrel  in  a  cage. 

FAIRY.  I  know  what  to  give  you,  Martin!  Something  splen- 
did! Three  wonderful  wishes!  Here  is  a  ring.  Whoever 
wears  it  may  have  three  wishes  come  true. 

MARTIN  (taking  the  ring).  Oh,  thank  you,  Miss  —  Ma'am. 
Thank  you ! 

FAIRY.  But  only  three!  So,  be  careful  what  you  wish  for. 
It's  easy  to  waste  wishes,  but  if  you  choose  wisely,  you're 
made  for  life.  (She  sails  away)  Choose  wisely,  Martin, 
wisely  —  wisely ! 

MARTIN  (following  fairy  with  his  eyes;  then  suddenly  beating  his 
head).  Wake  up,  Martin!  No,  no.  I  am  awake!  There's 
the  oak.  Here's  my  axe  —  and  here's  the  ring.  It's  all  true ! 
Oh,  you  precious  ring!  Oh,  you  beautiful  fairy!  I'm  a 
made  man !  I  wish  —  careful !  No  careless  wishes !  I'll  con- 
sult wife  Margaret,  first,  and  then  the  schoolmaster,  and  the 


244          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

lawyer,  before  I  wish  at  all.  How  lucky  I  am!  Jimminy 
Cricket!  I  could  jump  for  joy!  (He  sings  to  tune  of  "Ach 
du  lieber  Augustin): 

Hip  —  ey !    Hip  -  -  o  Hip !    Hurray ! 
Hip!    Hurrah!    Hip!    Hurray! 

[And  exits  —  jumping. 

CURTAIN 

ACT  II 

Interior  of  Martin's  home. 

Discover  Margaret,  dozing.    Bird  begins  to  sing.     Dog  wakens 

and  barks. 

MARGARET  (wakens).  Here,  you  Fritz!  Fritz!  Leave  old 
Draggle-tail  alone.  (She  whistles)  Will  you  stop  barking 
(she  stamps)^  and  be  a  good  dog?  (Fritz  shakes  head)  Don't 
you  love  your  mistress?  (Fritz  sits  up)  Oh!  Oh!  (Fritz 
flirts  on  hind  legs)  Come  here,  Fritz!  (Fritz  runs  about, 
barking;  finally  sits  opposite  Margaret)  You  hungry,  Fritz? 
(Fritz  nods)  You  want  some  meat?  (Fritz  nods)  Well, 
you  won't  get  it !  There's  no  meat  in  this  house.  (Fritz  puts 
head  down)  Poor  master  means  poor  dog.  We  get  potatoes, 
morning-noon-and-night.  Nothing  but  potatoes!  I  for- 
get what  meat  smells  like.  Dear  old  Fritz,  come  here!  Hep, 
hep !  [She  pats  Fritz's  head  and  makes  a  fuss  over  dog.  Music 
of  "Augustine"  is  heard.  The  Dog  begins  to  bark. 

MARGARET  (listens).  What's  that?  (The  Bird  begins  to  sing;  the 
Dog  barks)  Stop  your  noise!  Stop  it.  I  hear  something.  It 
can't  be  Martin.  Not  this  early !  It  sounds  like  Martin.  It 
is  Martin. 

MARTIN  (appearing  at  window,  still  singing  "  Hip-o-Hurray") . 
Halloo  —  there!  Ha,  ha,  pigs-joul  for  me  —  corned  beef! 
Where's  the  butcher  —  call  the  butcher!  Ho  —  ho  —  ha  — 
ha 

MARGARET.  What  ails  the  man,  home  so  early!  [Dog  barks, 
jumping  near  entrance. 


The  Three  Wishes  245 

MARTIN  (tumbles  in  and  while  picking  himself  up).  When  luck 
comes  into  a  house,  it  tumbles  in  at  the  door,  and  I've 
proved  it.  (Dog  barks  once.  Martin  steps  on  chair)  Mar- 
garet, drop  me  a  curtsey.  I'm  as  grand  a  man  as  the  Duke, 
or  I  will  be.  (Dog  barks  again)  We've  done  with  poverty. 
(Dog  barks)  We've  done  with  potatoes.  (Dog  barks)  Throw 
them  to  the  neighbours'  pigs.  I'm  drunk  with  joy!  (Dog 
barks)  Be  quiet  —  Fritz.  (Martin  jumps  down  and  kicks 

Fritz)    Quiet,  I  say 

t MARGARET  (sobbing).   Drunk! 

*  MARTIN.   Hold  your  whoop,  woman,  and  look  here.     Look! 
[He  holds  out  ring. 

MARGARET.   Oh-h,  a  ring!    Is  it  gold? 

MARTIN.  Aye,  and  more!  (Leaning  forward ,  and  whispering) 
A  beautiful  lady  gave  it  to  me ! 

MARGARET.  I  don't  believe  it!  What  lady  would  be  giving 
you  a  ring?  You,  who  look  like  the  latter  end  of  an  old 
goat!  [Sits  down. 

MARTIN,  v Hold  your  tongue,  j  A  fairy  gave  it  to  me! 

MARGARET  (angered).  A  fairy!    Really  a  fairy? 

MARTIN.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  (He  walks  over  behind  Mar- 
garet's chair)  I  let  her  out  of  a  tree. 

MARGARET.    What! 

MARTIN.   Look  at  it  again!    (Margaret  gazes)    It's  enchanted. 

It's  a  wishing  ring! 
MARGARET.   Oh-h-h  —  no ! 

MARTIN.   Three  wishes,  she  says 

MARGARET.   Do  you  belie ve  it,  Martin?    Do  you  really  believe 

it?    Let's  try  it  now.    Let's  wish  that 

MARTIN  (interrupting).  Hush,  woman,  —  don't  pop  a  wish  out 

like  that.  —  Look,  there's  something  written  in  the  ring. 
MARGARET.   What  does  it  say? 
MARTIN  (reading). 

"Just  three  wishes  small  or  grand 
Come  true  if  I'm  on  your  hand ; 
When  wishing,  choose  with  greatest  care, 
For  wasted  wishes  bring  despair !" 


246  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

MARGARET.   Oh-h,  Martin,  how  shall  we  ever  know  what  to 

ask? 
MARTIN.   I'm  going  to  the  schoolmaster  and  the  doctor  and  the 

lawyer,  and  find  out  what  are  the  three  grandest  things  a 

man  can  set  his  heart  on. 
MARGARET.   Go  —  do  it  now! 
MARTIN  (starts  walking  away).   I'll  go  right  away. 
MARGARET.   Wait  —  Martin.    Somebody  might  steal  the  ring! 

(Martin  turns)    Leave  it  here  —  leave  it  with  me. 
MARTIN.   Women  are  light-headed  creatures.     They  mean  well 

—  but  I 

MARGARET  (interrupting).   Leave  that  ring  with  me! 

MARTIN  (goes  up  to  Margaret,  and  gives  ring).   Mind  you  — 

It's  a  sacred  charge,  Margaret.     Mind,  you  don't —     (A 

knock)    Who  would  that  be  now? 
MARGARET.   Neighbour  Caspar,   most  likely.    I  promised  him 

a  cup  o'  ale! 
MARTIN.   Caspar!     He's  the  biggest  tattle-tale  in  the  parish! 

Don't  breathe  a  word  o'  the  ring  to  him,  or  we  couldn't  shut 

the  door  for  the  neighbours'  noses  in  the  crack.    Come  in, 

Caspar. 
CASPAR.   Good   morning,    Mistress   Margaret   and   neighbour 

Martin.     (He  steps  forward)     Did  you  think  you'd  rest  a 

spell?    You're  home  early ! 
MARTIN.   Yes,  Caspar,  it  struck  me  that  wood-chopping  is  no 

trade  for  a  man  of  my  intellect,  so  I  dropped  my  axe  and 

came  home.     You'll  excuse  me  now.     I've  business  to  at- 
tend to. 

CASPAR.   Business?    What  might  it  be? 
MARTIN.   Important  business.     Too  deep  for  a  plain,  simple 

man  like  you. 

CASPAR.   Two  heads  are  Better  than  one. 
MARTIN.   That's  why  I'm  going  to  consult  the  Duke.    (He  bows) 

Good-day  to  ya!     [He  leaves.     Caspar  sits  on  table.     Mar- 
garet walks  over  and  sits  down. 
CASPAR.   Consult  the  Duke!  -~  Has  the  man  birds  in  his  brain,  ) 

Margaret? 


The  Three  Wishes  247 

MARGARET.   Maybe  he  has  and  maybe  he  hasn't.     Strange 

things  have  happened  this  day  —  Master  Caspar !     I'm  fit 

to  jump  out  of  my  skin  with  joy! 

CASPAR  (laughing).   T^en  jump  back  into  a  handsomer  one. 
MARGARET.   What's  that  you  say? 
CASPAR.   Margaret,  a  secret,  unshared,  burdens  the  heart.    [He 

puts  his  arm  round  Margaret. 
MARGARET.   It's  no  use!    I  won't  tell  you. 
CASPAR.   Please,  Margaret!    I  wouldn't  tell  a  soul. 
MARGARET.   Will  you  promise,  Caspar? 
CASPAR.   I  promise. 

MARGARET.   It's  such  good  news,  I  can't  keep  it. 
CASPAR.   Out  with  it! 
MARGARET  (holding  out  her  hand).   Caspar,  look  at  this  ring. 

It's  a  fairy  gift  —  Three  Wishes. 
CASPAR.   Oh,  what  luck !    What  fine  luck  to  drink  to !    (He  looks 

about  and  smacks  his  lips)    Rare  luck  to  drink  to!!    (Smacks 

his  lips  again)    I'm  your  friend,  Margaret.  —  Drink  to  your 

luck  any  day.    Don't  forget  that.    Your  old  friend  Caspar! 
MARGARET.   I'll  be  the  finest  lady  in  the  village! 
CASPAR.   And  me  her  best  friend ! 
MARGARET.   I'll  have  a  coach. 
CASPAR.   And  me  riding  in  it. 
MARGARET.   And  horses. 
CASPAR.   And  me  behind  them. 
MARGARET.   I'll  have  grand  dinners. 
CASPAR.   I'll  come  to  them.    I  will  that. 
MARGARET   (gets   up).   Oh,   Caspar,   I'm   that  excited.      (She 

dances  to  other  chair)    I  don't  know  what  to  wish. 
CASPAR.   Gets  up  from  table,  walks  to  dresser,  and  looks  about 

for  mug;  upsets  some  plates. 
MARGARET.   What  are  you  looking  for?    (Caspar  upsets  dishes) 

Clumsy ! 
CASPAR  (turns  to  Margaret,  —  turns  his  head  about).   Where  are 

the  mugs? 
MARGARET.  Why,  don't  you  know,  —  upstairs  hi  the  cupboard 

is  a  full  mug  waiting  for  you ! 


248  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

CASPAR.   Ah,  upstairs.      (Walks  up  the  steps  humming  song. 

Looks  into  cupboard)    I  can't  see  a  mug. 
MARGARET.   Way  back,  Caspar!    It's  a  full  mug. 
CASPAR   (puts  his  hand  in  and  reaches).   My,  what  a  reach! 

(Pulls  out  mug)     Well,  here's  good  luck,  and  long  live  the 

fairy!     (Starts  going  down  the  steps,  singing.     Tune:    "Grad 

aus  dem  Wirtshaus") 

"Here's  to  your  good  health, 

Full  is  the  ale  cup. 
Poverty  turns  to  wealth, 
Joy  bubbles  up." 

(Goes  on  humming,  till  he  sits  down)  Well,  Margo,  here's 
wishing  you  three  fine  meals  a  day  and  a  stomach  to  wel- 
come them  all.  [He  drinks. 

MARGARET.   Slowly  man,  slowly.    That  ale's  worth  tasting. 

CASPAR  (gulping  and  coughing  and  wheezing).  Ah-h  —  it  is 
that! 

MARGARET.   You  drink  too  fast.    It's  no  compliment. 

CASPAR  (hiccoughs).  Ah  —  hie  —  he.  That  came  as  welcome 
as  a  mouse  to  a  cat's  party.  Makes  me  feel  fine.  Fine, 
Margaret!  Fi  —  (hie)  —  ne.  Where  shall  I  put  the  mug? 

MARGARET.   Put  it  on  the  shelf  in  the  next  room.    [Exit  Caspar. 

CASPAR  (off  stage).   Fine,  Margo,  fine. 
(Sings  melody,  "  Lauterbach  ") 

"Sauerkraut,  sausages,  butter  and  bread, 
Good  ale  that  goes  to  your  head. 
So  stamp  on  your  troubles, 
Kick  care  out  the  door 
And  dance  with  your  neighbour  instead." 

(He  is  standing  in  front  of  Margaret) 

"So  pick  up  your  petticoats,  come  and  dance, 
Hop  lightly  and  join  in  the  song. 
In  cheering  up  others 
You  cheer  up  yourself, 
And  the  man  who  lives  gaily  lives  long." 


The  Three  Wishes  249 

(He  throws  his  head  back  and  laughs  long)    Ho  —  ho  —  ha  — 

ha  [  —  and  sits  on  Margaret's  lap. 
MARGARET.    Get  up,  Caspar,  —  how  dare  you ! 
CASPAR  (still  laughing).   Say,  Margo,  when  you  get  your  three 

wishes,  life  will  be  one  song  and  dance.    Come  on,  Margo, 

let's  dance!    [He  gets  up  and  dances,  joined  later  by  Margaret. 

Dance  with  encore,  if  necessary.    Margaret  falls  exhausted  into 

chair. 
CASPAR  (Stretches  exhausted  on  table.       He  yawns,  stretches  legs 

and  arms,  and  then  sits  up).   Do  you  know,  Margaret,  what 

I  feel  like  now? 

MARGARET.   I  suppose  you'll  be  saying  another  cup  of  ale! 
CASPAR.    No,  no  —  let  us  have  some  sausages. 
MARGARET.    It's  so  long  since  I've  tasted  sausages,   I'd  not 

know  one  if  it  bowed  to  me. 
CASPAR  (getting  off  table).   Yes-      (Turns  round)     Sausages, 

nice,  crisp,  crackling,  brown  sausages. 
MARGARET.   Sizzling  in  the  pan. 
CASPAR.   Brown  and  bursting !    Oh  —  oh ! 
MARGARET.   Oh,  I  wish  we  had  some  sausages  —  now !    [Flash 

of  lightning,  thunder.    Margaret  and  Caspar  fall  flat  on  floor 

in  terror.    Sausages  are  on  the  table. 
CASPAR  (raising  his  head  in  terror) .   Are  you  alive? 
MARGARET    I  don't  know,  —  are  you? 

CASPAR.   What  happened?  —  It  was  like  a  flash  of  lightning! 
MARGARET.   What  would  lightning  be  doing  on  a  fair  day? 
CASPAR.   It  left  a  pleasant  smell  behind  it,  though.    Sniff  now. 

(They  both  sniff)    If  I  told  you  what  my  nose  says,  you'd 

laugh.    (She  sniffs)    It  says,  sausages! 
MARGARET.   It  does  smell  like  sausages,  new  fried! 
CASPAR.   It's  stronger  this  side.     (He  rises  slowly,  looks  down  at 

sausages)    Look!    It's  your  wish  come  true! 
MARGARET.   Where?    [Getting  up. 
CASPAR.   There,  as  I  am  alive,  a  plateful  of  sausages! 
MARGARET  (sobbing) .    Oh  —  oh !    Sausages ! ! 
CASPAR.   Hush  —  hush,  woman.    It's  no  sorrow.    It's  a  bless- 
ing. 


250  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

MARGARET.  It's  a  wish  come  true.  Martin  will  beat  me.  One 
wish  gone  out  of  the  ring.  Oh  —  oh  —  oh ! 

CASPAR  (smelling  sausages).  Nothing  is  wrong  with  these  sau- 
sages. They're  good  to  eat!  (Margaret  sobs)  It's  true  — 
you  might  have  wished  for  a  cart-load.  Martin  couldn't 
have  got  mad  at  that!  Let's  sit  down  and  eat  the  dish 
clean  and  not  tell  him  a  word  about  it.  He'll  think 
the  fairy  cheated  him.  They're  deceitful  things,  those 
fairies ! 

MARGARET.  Well,  I  don't  want  a  beating.  Sit  down,  eat  quick 
and  we'll  stuff 

DOG.   Runs  across  stage  towards  entrance  door  and  barks. 

MARGARET.  Be  quiet,  Fritz !  —  Oh,  he  hears  Martin.  (Mar- 
tha's voice  is  heard  outside)  He'll  be  as  mad  as  murder. 
(Caspar  get  up  and  begins  walking  off  stage)  Stop,  Cas- 
par, —  I  won't  take  all  the  blame  alone !  It  was  your 
fault! 

CASPAR.   I  think  I  left  my  cap  outside.    [Exit  Caspar. 

MARGARET.  Come  back,  you  coward!  [Dog  enters,  barking 
and  jumping.  Martin  follows.  Margaret  is  sobbing  on  the 
table. 

MARTIN.  It's  all  settled  in  the  wisest  way.  We're  to  have  — 
What's  that  smell?  (Looks  at  Margaret)  What's  the  mat- 
ter with  you,  Margaret?  (Looks  at  sausages)  Sausages! 
Where'd  they  come  from? 

MARGARET.   It  was  all  Caspar's  fault!    It  was.    He  sang  and 
danced,  and  addled  my  brain!    His  mouth  watered  for  sau- 
sages.   Before  I  knew  it  I  was  wishing  for  them!  —  woroo  — 
woroo! 

MARTIN.   You  wished  for  sausages  and  you  had  the  ring? 

MARGARET  (sobbing).   I  forgot  all  about  the  ring. 

MARTIN  (walking  over  to  Margaret).  So  you've  wasted  a  fairy 
wish.  I'll  show  you!  Take  that  and  that!  [Beats  her. 

MARGARET.  Help,  Caspar  —  help,  Caspar!  [Caspar  appears  a 
moment,  but  immediately  runs  away  as  Martin  continues  his 
beating. 

MARTIN.   Take  that  —  I'll  teach  you  to  be  wasting  wishes!  — 


THE  THREE  WISHES 

Act  II. 

Martin.  — ''Gripes,    1   wish   they   were   growing   to   the   end   of 
your  nose ! ! !  " 


The  Three  Wishes 

Where's  the  ring?  —  Give  me  back  that  ring!  Margaret 
hands  back  ring  to  Martin)  Only  two  wishes  left  in  it  now. 
Gripes,  I  could  bite  my  thumbs  off! 

CASPAR  (reappearing  .  Be  quiet,  Martin,  two  wishes  are  enough 
for  a  simple,  quiet  man  like  you!  Be  sensible.  Sit  down 
with  us  and  eat  the  sausages. 

MARGARET.   Do,  Martin,  —  they  taste  like  a  salted  rainbow ! 

MARTIN.  What,  eat  sausages  with  you !  —  You,  who  have 
wasted  a  wish  between  you ! !  Gripes,  I  wish  they  were  grow- 
ing to  the  end  of  your  nose!!!  (Flash  of  lightning.  Martin 
falls  flat.  Margaret  falls  on  table  and  Caspar  over  back  of 
chair)  What  was  that? 

CASPAR.  Another  wish  come  true !  It's  a  rough  way  the  fairies 
have. 

MARTIN  (getting  up).  Another  wish!    What  wish? 

CASPAR.   That  the  sausages  were  grown  on  Margaret's  nose. 

MARTIN.   What  do  you  mean? 

MARGARET  It's  true  —  it's  true!  They're  grown  to  me  as 
fast  as  the  tail  to  a  cat.  Oh-h-h!  I'm  a  ruined  woman. 
Look  —  look ! 

MARTIN.  They  can't  be  grown  to  you.  Caspar!  Pull  them 
off! 

CASPAR  (touching  them).  Aw!    They're  hot  —  they  burnt  me. 

MARGARET.   Oh  —  oh  —  I  am  a  ruined  woman ! 

CASPAR  (laughing  inwardly).  Never  mind.  It's  not  every 
woman  who  can  nibble  her  own  nose  for  breakfast!  [He 
laughs. 

MARTIN.  Stop  laughing.  I  tell  you  —  stop!  Two  wishes  gone! 
Two  —  aw,  what  good's  the  third.  What  good  to  be  rich 
like  the  Duke  with  that  beside  me  for  a  wife!  (He  points  to 
Margaret)  Look  at  her  —  look !  An  elephant  with  his  nose 
in  curl  paper.  (Caspar  gives  suppressed  laughter.)  Stop 
swinging  them,  I  say!  I  can't  bear  it!  This  ring  has 
brought  nothing  but  torment.  By  magic  they  came  and  by 
magic  they  must  go.  I  wish  the  sausages  were  off  Mar- 
garet's nose !  [Thunder  and  lightning.  Martin,  Margaret  and 
Caspar  fall  to  the  floor  The  Fairy  appears. 


A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

FAIRY.   So  all  three  wishes  came  to  naught ! 

You  know  I  rather  thought  they  would, 

For  idle  longing  never  brings 

To  wise  or  foolish  any  good. 

If  fools  could  have  the  things  they  wish, 

By  wishing  what  they  wanted  to, 

Imagine  what  a  snarl  the  world 

Would  be  in,  —  in  a  day  or  two. 

And  wise  folks,  when  they  want  a  thing, 

Don't  need  the  fairies'  help  a  bit; 

They  just  make  sure  they  want  it  first, 

Then  go  ahead  and  work  for  it! 

CURTAIN 


ABOUT  THE  TOYMAKER  OF  NUREMBERG 

Some  day  I  hope  Mr.  Strong  will  write  his  recollections  of 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  his  step-grandfather:  As  a  small  boy, 
he  spent  some  time  at  Vailima,  in  the  Samoan  Islands,  and  under 
Stevenson's  guidance  did  some  of  his  lessons.  I  find,  in  Steven- 
son's Letters,  constant  reference  to  the  boy,  passages  descriptive 
of  Austin's  playmates  among  the  dusky  Samoans,  who  used  to 
make  him  native  musical  instruments  to  play  on.  I  also  find, 
in  one  letter,  Stevenson's  reference  to  English  history  which 
he  and  the  boy  were  reading  together,  and  Stevenson's  debating 
whether  or  not  he  should  write  a  history  better  suited  to  the 
lad's  understanding.  What  a  pity  we  have  not  such  a  book 
from  the  pen  of  the  great  writer! 

There  were  no  unusual  circumstances  attendant  on  the 
writing  of  "The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg."  It  is  just  such  a 
play  as  one  with  a  quaint  imagination  would  conceive,  with 
atmosphere  delightfully  suggested  in  Mr.  Sarg's  colour  frontis- 
piece. 

All  of  Mr.  Strong's  dramas  are  tinctured  with  unusual  at- 
mosphere —  "The  Little  Father  of  the  Wilderness",  "The 
Drums  of  Oude ",  "Rip  Van  Winkle ",  and  his  version  of  Madame 
Rostand's  "The  Good  Little  Devil."  Then  he  wrote  "Bunny" 

—  the  story  of  a  second-hand  book-dealer,  "The  Three  Wise 
Fools",  and  now  he  has  just  finished  "The  Three  Candles." 
I  recall  one  story  he  told  me,  about  a  play  of  his;  it  has  no  con- 
nection with  "The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg",  but  it  revealed 
to  me  —  when  he  told  it  —  and  a  spirited  raconteur  he  can  be 

—  his  own  delicate  sense  of  humour,  and  a  quaintness  similar  to 
J.  M.  Barrie,  author  of  "Peter  Pan." 

Mr.  Strong's  "Drums  of  Oude"  was  given  in  London  as  a 
one-act  curtain  piece,  on  the  same  program  with  a  longer 
Barrie  play;  Mr.  Barrie  had  consented  to  this.  So,  the  next 


254          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

time  Mr.  Strong  went  to  London,  he  thought  it  was  only  due 
that  he  call  on  Mr.  Barrie  at  his  home,  overlooking  Kensing- 
ton Gardens  —  made  more  famous  than  ever  as  the  residence 
of  Peter  Pan,  Wendy  and  John.  And  here  is  where  Mr. 
Strong's  story  begins. 

"I  reached  the  gate  opening  onto  a  path  which  led  directly 
to  Mr.  Barrie's  front  door.  Nanna,  the  big  dog,  was  there  to 
greet  me;  she  preceded  me  up  the  gravel  walk,  and  herself  gave 
a  lusty  ring  to  the  door-bell.  Mr.  Barrie  answered  the  im- 
perative call.  After  we  had  greeted  each  other,  I  said, 

"  'Mr.  Barrie,  I  have  just  been  sorely  disappointed.  Coming 
through  Kensington  Gardens  just  now,  I  met  a  duck.' 

"  Tray  tell  me',  I  asked  him,  *  where  does  Mr.  Barrie  live?' 

"'Mr.  Barrie?'  questioned  my  web-footed  acquaintance, 
'Mr.  Barrie?  I  don't  know  any  such  person.' 

"  *  Don't  you  know  Mr.  Barrie?'  I  exclaimed  —  'the  author 
of  "Peter  Pan"?' 

"  'Peter  Pan?'  replied  the  stupid  duck,  'what  is  that'? 

"  '  Peter  Pan  —  you  don't  know  who  the  boy  is  that  never 
grew  up?' 

"  'No',  insisted  the  duck. 

"  'And  Wendy  and  John'? 

"  'No',  snapped  the  duck." 

Then,  turning  to  Mr.  Barrie,  Mr.  Strong  demanded:  "Tell 
me,  why  is  there  such  ignorance  in  Kensington  Gardens,  which 
became  Peter  Pan's  home  after  he  fell  out  of  his  peramb?" 

Mr.  Barrie  listened  seriously  to  this  tale,  but  there  was  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye  —  just  as  there  is  a  twinkle  in  his  writings, 
mixed  up  with  the  sentiment  and  gentleness.  Here  were  two 
quaint  writers  crossing  swords,  and  Barrie  was  not  to  be  outdone. 

"Tell  me,  Mr.  Strong,"  he  said,  "did  you  notice  whether  the 
duck  you  spoke  to  had  a  red  bill  or  a  yellow  one." 

"Why,  a  yellow  one,  of  course",  asserted  Mr.  Strong. 

Whereupon  Barrie  exclaimed  jubilantly, 

"I've  never  had  anything  to  do  with  the  ducks  that  have 
yellow  bills.  So,  how  could  they  know  about  me  or  Peter  Pan ! " 

It  is  good  to  meet  grown-ups  who  are  as  eager  as  this  to 
enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  moment,  and  I  am  printing  Mr. 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  255 

Strong's  play  just  because  it  takes  an  incident  in  the  history  of 
toyland,  —  the  onslaught  of  the  Teddy  Bear  upon  nursery 
favour,  —  and  makes  it  a  play  delicate  in  tone  and  very  charming 
to  see  on  the  stage,  when  it  was  produced  by  the  American 
theater  manager,  Charles  Frohman. 

As  a  matter  of  record,  I  give  the  following: 

THE  TOYMAKER  OF  NUREMBERG 
GARRICK  THEATER 

NEW  YORK 
November  25,  1907 

CAST 

THE  SENTRY     .....  Archibald  Rosamund 

THE  STREET  CLEANER     .      .  William  Bechtel 

THE  BOY     ......  Leo  Herbert  White 

THE  BOY'S  FRIEND     .      .     .  Edward  Morrissey 

THE  SERGEANT      ....  Carl  Ahrendt 

THE  POET   ......  Frank  Sheridan 

THE  GIRL    ......  Consuelo  Bailey 

THE  LAMPLIGHTER      .     .     .  Grant  Mitchell 

THE  TOYMAKER     .     .     .      .  W.  J.  Ferguson 

THE  MOTHER  .....  Mathilde  Cottrelly 

THE  EMPLOYER      ....  Frank  Wunderlee 

THE  COOK  ......  Rosa  Cooke 

THE  COACHMAN     ....  William  Bechtel 

THE  CLERK      .....  Grant  Mitchell 

THE  STRANGER      ....  Harrison  Armstrong 

THE  DRIVER     .....  Archibald  Rosamund 

Misses  Fa™11011  and  Hackett 


THF  CHILDRFTST 

J.  JtUli    V>-±llljLlrtJiiJN  .         .         .         .     \  -i  -\ir  TT       i 

\     and  Master  Hackett 
THE  SOLDIER*  /Messrs.   Cuyler,   Redstone, 

J.rLHi    OUljJL»IJt)KC5   .....     \          T     _  -i-vi  i   -r»    11 

I     Lehvinne,  Daly  and  Bell 
THE  CITIZENS  .  Misses  Svendsen  and  Marie 


THE  TOYMAKER  OF  NUREMBERG 

A  PLAY  IN  THREE  ACTS  AND  TWO  SCENES 


BY  AUSTIN  STRONG 


COPTHIGHT,    1921,   BT  AUSTIH  STHOHQ 

Application  for  the  right  to  perform  "  The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  "  muat  be  made  to  the 
author,  care  of  the  publishers,  Little,  Brown  &  Company. 


Dedicated  to 
CYRIL  MAUDE 


Dramatis  Personce 

THE  SENTRY. 

THE  STREET  CLEANER. 

THE  SERGEANT. 

THE  BOY. 

THE  GIRL. 

THE  MOTHER. 

THE  LAMPLIGHTER. 

THE  EMPLOYER. 

THE  STRANGER. 

THE  BOY'S  FRIEND. 

THE  POET. 

THE  CHILDREN. 

THE  SOLDIERS. 

THE  TOYMAKER. 

THE  CLERK. 

THE  COOK. 

THE  DRIVER. 

THE  COACHMAN. 

Synopsis 

SCENE.    Laid  in  Nuremberg.    TIME.    Present. 
ACT  I.     Scene  I.    Outside  the  Walled  Garden. 

Scene  II.     The  Toymaker's. 
ACT  II.     Inside  the  Watted  Garden. 
ACT  III.     The  Toymaker's  again. 


THE  TOYMAKER  OF  NUREMBERG 
ACT  I 

SCENE  I 
Outside  the  Walled  Garden 

The  curtain  rises  on  the  street  outside  the  Walled  Garden  of 
Herr  Kronfeldt.  A  sentry-box  to  right  and  a  soldier  standing  in 
it  on  duty.  A  street  lamp,  not  lighted,  is  in  front  of  him*. 

The  time  is  late  afternoon,  the  dose  of  a  summer  day,  and  the 
stage  is  suffused  with  orange  and  brown  lights.  The  wall  is  a 
fretwork  of  shadows  from  the  light  through  the  leaves  above. 

Enter  a  Soldier,  and  behind  him  an  Officer.  The  Sentry  pre- 
sents arms  as  they  pass  out.  To  the  left  are  an  Officer  and  Soldier; 
to  the  right  a  Street  Cleaner.  A  Woman  with  a  basket  enters  and 
throws  leaves  into  Street  Cleaner's  wheelbarrow.  Then  an  old 
German  pushes  in  a  wheelbarrow.  He  carries  a  broom.  He  com- 
mences to  sweep  up  the  dead  leaves.  Children  laugh  at  Street 
Cleaner.  Some  Children  and  Citizens  pass,  all  calmly,  sedately. 
Enter  a  Girl  with  a  smaller  Boy  and  Girl.  The  small  Boy  stares 
at  the  Sentry  —  is  jerked  along.  The  Girl  swishes  her  skirt  away 
from  the  Street  Cleaner.  The  stage  becomes  empty  for  a  space, 
leaving  the  Street  Cleaner  and  the  Sentry.  Enter  at  left  the  Boy, 
a  healthy-looking  youth  of  seventeen  or  eighteen,  and  with  him  is 
his  friend,  Paul.  They  carry  an  empty  barrel  between  them.  The 
Boy  is  feverish  with  suppressed  excitement.  His  friend  looks  up 
at  him  with  true  boyish  hero-worship. 

THE  BOY  (aside  to  Paul,  as  they  halt  with  the  barrel  swinging  be- 
tween them).     Is  that  our  sentry,  Paul? 
PAUL  (peering  at  the  sentry-box,    and  shading  his  eyes  with  his 

hand).     No  —  no  —  take    care!     I    don't    know    this    one! 

Wait  till  the  guard  is  changed.     Ours  will  come  then ! 
THE  BOY.     I  will  see  her  this  time  —  Oh,  Paul,  my  heart  beats 

so  fast! 


A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

PAUL.     Take  long  breaths! 

STREET  CLEANER  (picks  up  barrow).    Eh!    What  are  you  boys 

doing  with  that  barrel? 

PAUL.     Please  —  we  are  —  we  are 

STREET  CLEANER.     Ah!    There's  mischief  here!     (Putting  bar- 
row down)     Explain,  please! 
THE  BOY.     I  am  the  Toymaker's  son,  Street  Cleaner  —  and 

refuse  to  explain  to  you  or  to  anyone. 
STREET  CLEANER.     The  Toymaker's  son!     You  are  his  son! 

Umph!     Then  it  is  all  right.     There  can  be  no  mischief. 

How  is  your  good  father,  child? 
THE  BO-B*   Well  —  I  thank  you,  Street  Cleaner. 
STREET  CLEANER  (hobbling  off  and  muttering).     The  Toymaker's 

son  —  um  —  the  Toymaker's  son!     No  —  there  is  no  mis- 
chief here  —  the  Toymaker's  son! 

[The  lads  watch  him  exit. 
THE  BOY  (struggling  with  the  end  of  the  barrel).     I  can't  wait, 

Paul,  —  I  must  begin! 
PAUL.     No,  no  —  this  sentry  we  don't  know,  —  and  he  might 

report  us !     Wait  till  the  guard  changes  and  our  friend  sentry 

comes.     (Music  and  drum)     Ssh  —  here  they  are  now. 

[Enter  a  squad  of  Soldiers.     They  change  guard  with  military 

abruptness,  leaving  another  Sentry  in  the  box.     Then  the  squad 

passes  out  as  it  came. 
NEW  SENTRY  (gruffly).     Hullo  —  you  boys  here  again? 

[The  two  Boys  run  up  to  him  eagerly  —  still  carrying  the  empty 

barrel  between  them. 
PAUL.     Oh,  Herr  Sentry,  may  we  play  again  to  the  young  lady 

in  there? 

[Points  at  the  wall. 
SENTRY.     Ha!     Ha!    Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  soldier  spoiling 

sport !    Nay,  my  lads,  do  what  you  please  —  and  I'll  stand 

watch  for  you. 
THE  BOY  (dropping  the  barrel  and  putting  out  his  hand).    Herr 

Sentry  —  you  have  indeed  been  truly  kind  to  us 

[The  barrel  falls  on  Paul's  toe. 
PAUL.     Ouch! 


The  Toy  maker  of  Nuremberg  263 

THE  BOY  (to  Sentry) .  -    —  and  we  thank  you  from  our  heart. 

[Paul  goes  to  left  of  barrel. 
SENTRY  (putting  out  a  white  gloved  hand;  gruffly).     Spoken  like 

royalty,    Comrade!    You'd  better   hurry  —  the    sun's    fast 

going  down. 

[The  Lads  run  to  the  rear  and  put  the  barrel  against  the  wall. 

The  Boy  sits  on  it  and  Paul  kneels  below  on  the  ground,  looking 

up  at  him.     The  Boy  takes  out  the  pieces  of  a  flute  from  his 

divers  pockets,  and  puts  them  together. 
PAUL.     I  wonder  if  it  will  be  a  rose  or  a  tulip  you  will  get  this 

time,  David? 
THE  BOY.     I  am  playing  for  the  sight  of  her  face.     I've  ^ply  seen 

her  in  church !    Ah,  will  she  come  —  Paul ! 
PAUL.     Yes,   I  tell  you  —  if  you  keep  on  playing.     You've 

always  stopped  playing  when  the  flower's  been  thrown  over  — 

satisfied  with  that.     But  now  keep  on  playing  after,  and  she'll 

be  sure  to  come! 
THE  BOY.     You  think  so? 
PAUL.     I  know  it. 

THE  BOY.       Ah! 

SENTRY.     Good  luck,  Comrade! 

THE  BOY  (whispering).     How  my  heart  beats,  Paul. 

PAUL.     It  will  pass. 

[The  Boy  sits  on  the  barrel  and  begins  on  his  flute  to  play  a 
quaint,  sad  little  love  tune.  It  is  played  with  great  beauty  and 
tenderness.  He  plays  some  time,  when  the  Sentry  thumps  the 
ground  with  his  gun. 

SENTRY.     Take  care,    Comrade!     Here    come  the  Poet    and 
Sergeant  Strumpf ! 

[Music.  The  Boy  stops,  hides  his  flute,  and  remains  seated  on 
his  barrel.  Enter  then  the  Sergeant,  a  veteran  with  one  leg,  one 
arm,  one  eye.  He  is  covered  with  medals.  With  him  is  his  old 
friend,  the  Tragedian,  in  a  long  cloak  and  high  hat.  They 
walk  arm  in  arm.  The  Sergeant,  hobbling  with  abruptness  — 
the  Poet  with  languid,  affected  ease  and  magnificent  manner. 
The  Sentry  salutes  the  Sergeant  by  presenting  arms.  They 
enter  quarrelling. 


264  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

POET.     Well,  Herr  Sergeant  —  History  tells  us  — 

SERGEANT.     Damn  your  hi  story,  sir  —  I  was  there !    (Saluting  — 

as  they  pass  —  and  halting  when  he  sees  the  Boy)     Ah  —  Boy ! 

[The  Boy  jumps  off  the  barrel  and  removes  his  hat  respectfully. 
THE  BOY.     Herr  Sergeant  Strumpf !    Herr  Von  Staufenbach! 

[The  Poet  takes  off  his  hat  with  pompous  magnificence  and  bows 

flatly. 
POET.    Boy  —  we  seek  thy  father  —  The  Master  of  the  Art 

of  Toys.     Is  he  at  home? 

[Paul  walks  behind,  to  below  the  Poet,  with  the  Sentry  between 

him  and  Poet. 
THE  BOY,    Yes  —  Herr   Staufenbach  —  and  he  is  waiting  for 

you  —  his  dear  friends. 

[The  Poet  puts  hat  on. 
SERGEANT  (to  Poet).     Wellspoken!     (To  the  Boy)    But  what 

do  you  here,  Boy,  at  this  time  of  day?    You  should  be  at 

home  preparing  for  bed ! 

[Paul  has  sneaked  up  behind  the  Tragedian  and  pulled  at  his 

cloak.     The  latter  bends  pompously  down.     Paul  whispers  in 

his  ear. 

PAUL  (in  a  whisper).    He  waits  his  love  lady! 
POET  (at  once  with  great  air  of  intrigue).   Trust  in  me,  sir.  (Sentry 

watches  and  smiles.     Then  aloud)     Come,  Sergeant  Strumpf, 

let  us  on  our  peaceful  way. 

SERGEANT.     No,  my  friend  —  I  would  listen  to  this  lad's  ex- 
planation. 
POET.     Come  —  and  I  will  tell  you,  Sergeant.     (Boy  takes  the 

flute  from  Sergeant.     Crossing  left,  he  drags  him  reluctantly  off) 

You  see  —  his  schoolmaster,  Herr  Rose,  has  asked  him  to 

study  the  effects  of -the  setting  sun 

SERGEANT.      Oh ! 

POET  (turns  to  Boy  and  winks).  In  fact,  the  great  mystery  of 
our  German  twilight.  Observation  in  the  youthful  brain  and 
eye!  That,  you  must  see,  Herr  Sergeant,  is  the  secret  of 
our  modern  education. 

[The  Sergeant  hobbles  off.     The  Poet,  turning,  winks  at  Paul. 
Exeunt  both. 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  265 

SENTRY.     Whew!    That's  what  I  call  "Diplomacy." 

PAUL.     He's  our  friend.     (To  Boy)     Now  begin  again. 

[Flute.  The  Boy  plays  again.  The  Sentry  paces  right  and 
left  twice,  then  returns  to  his  box.  Paul,  sitting  on  the  ground 
at  the  foot  of  the  barrel,  hugs  his  knees  and  looks  up  at  the  Boy 
with  the  deep  admiration  of  youth.  The  Boy  plays  the  little 
love  air  with  real  tenderness  —  his  eyes  directed  above  him  on 
the  wall.  A  large  red  rose  on  a  long  stalk  is  thrown  from  the 
other  side  of  the  wall,  falling  in  front  of  the  Boy,  who  stops  play- 
ing and  goes  to  pick  it  up. 

PAUL.   No  —  no!  Don't  stop!  Keep  on  playing,  —  she'll  come 
if  you  do ! 

THE  BOY  (with  emotion  in  his  voice).    But  the  rose,  Paul  —  the 
rose. 

PAUL  (running  and  picking  up  the  rose) .     Not  till  you've  played 
her  here!     Hurry  —  it  will  be  too  late ! 

THE  BOY  (putting  the  flute  to  his  lips  with  a  catch  in  his  breath) . 
Paul  —  My  heart  beats  so  fast ! 

PAUL.     Then  blow !     Make  haste  —  or  she'll  be  in  the  house. 

THE  BOY  (about  to  play  when  he  puts  the  flute  down) .     Oh  no  — 
I  couldn't  meet  her,  Paul  —  I  couldn't  actually  meet  her! 

PAUL.     Blow  —  Oh,  blow ! 

THE  BOY  (in  terror) .     I  will • 

[With  a  gasp.  Flute.  The  Boy  begins,  and  the  air  is  very 
jerky,  wobbly,  and  weak,  but,  as  he  goes  on,  he  warms  to  it,  and 
it  becomes  pure  and  liquid  again.  He  plays  for  some  moments. 

PAUL  (his  ear  to  the  wall).     I  hear  something — don't  stop! 
Stand  up  on  the  barrel  —  she's  coming ! 
[The  tune  wobbles  for  a  moment,  as  the  Boy,  with  Paul's  help, 
gets  up  on  the  barrel.     His  back  is  to  audience  as  he  plays, 
looking  up  at  the  top  of  the  wall. 

THE  BOY  (stopping  a  moment  — fiercely).     Hold  my  legs! 

[Paul  puts  his  arms  round  the  Boy's  legs.  The  Boy  plays  on. 
Then  the  top  of  a  ladder  is  seen  against  the  other  side  of  the  wall. 
And,  slowly  and  shyly,  a  young  maiden  with  dark  brown  hair 
comes  to  view;  she  peeps  timidly  over  the  wall,  sees  the  Boy,  gives 
a  frightened  gasp,  and  disappears. 


266          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

THE  BOY  (stopping  his  music).     Ah,  don't  go  —  please  —  don't 

go! 
PAUL  (in  a  hoarse  whisper).     Blow  —  you  fool  —  blow! 

[The  Boy  plays  again.    The  Girl  returns  and  looks  over. 
THE    BOY    (stopping    abruptly).     Oh,    please    don't    go  .'way! 

Please  —  (A  frightened  pause)     How  do  you  do? 

[Paul  smiles;  looks  at  Sentry  who  faces  front. 
THE  GIRL  (in  a  frightened  whisper,  hardly  audible).     How  do 

you  do! 

[Another  pause.     She  makes  a  movement  to  go  down  again. 
THE  BOY.     Please  —  oh,  please  —  don't  go  away !     I  saw  you 

in  church  yesterday  —  (Pause)     Do  you  like  church? 
THE    GIRL.     Ye-es  —  (She    looks  —  Paul    smiles  —  the    Sentry 

nods)     Good-bye! 
THE  BOY.    No,  no  —  no  —  please  —  one  moment.     (He  wildly 

searches  for  a  topic)    Do  you  like  dogs? 

[Paul  and  the  Sentry  listen  again. 
THE  GIRL.    Ye-es. 

[Paul  and  the  Sentry  smile. 
THE  BOY.     Oh,  I'm  so  glad  —  I  have  —  at  least  my  father  — 

has  a  dog  —  he's  a  fine  dog  —  a  dachshund !    My  name's 

David  —  what  is  yours? 
THE  GIRL.    Hesta. 
THE  BOY  (with  emotion).    Hesta! 
THE  GIRL.    I  thank  you  for  your  music  —  David. 

[Paul  and  the  Sentry  are  pleased. 

THE  BOY.    Thank  you  —  for  thanking  me,  I  mean  —  I  —  you ! 
THE  GIRL.     Did  you  always  get  my  flowers  —  David? 

[Paul  puts  the  flowers  behind  his  back.     The  Sentry  leans 

forward. 
THE  BOY.    Yes  —  see.     (Puts  his  hand  in  his  blouse  and  brings 

out  a  bunch  of  withered  flowers)     Here  they  are,  all,  every 

one  —  Hesta! 
THE  GIRL  (with  tenderness).    Oh!     (Then  demurely)    You  like 

flowers? 
THE  BOY.     Not  really  —  only  these  —  only  the  ones  you  gave 

me. 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  267 

[Puts  flowers  back.     The  Girl  smiles  and  turns  away;  so  does 

the  Sentry. 

THE  GIRL.     You  play  so  well. 
THE  BOY.     Oh,  if  I  could  only  talk  as  I  play.     I  want  to  tell 

you  so  much  —  I  have  told  it  all  to  you  ever  so  many  times 

on  my  flute.     It  comes  so  easy  on  my  flute  —  what  sounds 

so  awkward  on  my  lips. 

[Paul  and  the  Sentry  still. 

THE  GIRL.     David  —  what  does  your  music  say? 
THE  BOY.     It  says  —  it  says  —  I  think  you  are  the  nicest  girl 

in  Nuremberg ! 

[Paul  and  the  Sentry  again  look  at  her. 
THE  GIRL  (abashed).     Oh! 

[Sinks  slowly  out  of  sight. 
THE  BOY.  No  —  no  —  I  didn't  mean  that  —  please.  I  meant  — 

(As  she  comes  up  again  with  downcast  eyes)     Now  please  don't 

go  away  —  I  meant  —  in  all  the  world. 
THE  GIRL.     Oh,  that's  worse. 

[Paul  and  the  Sentry  smile. 
THE  BOY.     Please  —  Hesta  —  listen  to  what  my  music  says. 

(Plays  on  his  flute,  looking  at  her.     She  looks  straight  at  him. 

He  stops  —  and  in  a  note  of  tenderness)     Can't  you  —  un- 
derstand? 
THE  GIRL  (in  the  same  tone).     Yes,  I  do  —  (Paul  and  the  Sentry 

smile)  no,  no  —  I  mean,  of  course  I  don't. 
THE  BOY.     Please  say  you  do 

THE  GIRL.       I  do! 
THE  BOY.      Oh 

THE  GIRL.     I  think  it's  wrong 

THE  BOY.     Oh  no  —  oh  no ! 

[Here  the  Lamplighter  comes  in.  The  Girl  drops  behind  the 
wall.  He  is  a  sleepy  peasant,  who  goes  to  the  lamp  and  lights  it. 
The  lovers  watch  him  in  terror.  He  falls  asleep  —  leaning  on 
his  lighting-stick.  The  Sentry  leans  out  and  pokes  him  with 
his  bayonet.  The  Lamplighter  wakens  with  a  start  and  hurries 
off  —  not  noticing  anything.  The  Sentry  follows  him,  looking 
at  David. 


268          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

BOY.     Fraulein  Hesta? 

[The  Girl  comes  up. 

THE  GIRL.     Your  father  is  Herr  Budel,  is  he  not?    The  Toy- 
maker! 
THE  BOY.     Oh,  yes!     (Proudly)     He  makes  the  most  beautiful 

dolls  in  the  world! 

THE  GIRL.     And  you 

THE    BOY    (still   more   proudly).      I   paint    the   eyelashes    on 

the  dolls  —  which  takes  quite  a   steady  hand,  I   can  tell 

you! 
THE  GIRL.     You  paint  the  eyelashes  on  the  dolls  —  oh,  how 

difficult! 

THE  BOY  (proudly).     My  father  says  I  am  an  artist. 
THE  GIRL.     I'm  sure  of  it!     I  would  so  love  to  meet  your  father 

—  I  have  always  heard  that  he  is  the  best  loved  man  in 

Nuremberg. 
THE  BOY  (proudly) .     Yes  —  and  I'm  his  son !     May  I  bring  him 

to  see  you? 

THE  GIRL.     Oh,  yes  —  please ! 
THE  BOY.     And  Nebuchadnezzar? 
THE  GIRL  (puzzled).     Nebuchadnezzar? 
THE  BOY.     Yes  —  our  dog. 
THE  GIRL.     Oh  —  please  —  yes! 

THE  SENTRY  (enters,  banging  his  gun  on  the  ground  and  whisper- 
ing).    The  guard  is  coming  —  hurry,  Comrade! 
THE  GIRL.     What  was  that? 
THE  BOY.     Nothing  —  Good-bye ! 
THE  GIRL  (looking  at  him).     Good-bye! 

[A  pause. 

THE  BOY  (reluctantly).     Good-bye! 
THE  GIRL.     Good-bye! 

[Neither  moves. 

THE  BOY  (putting  up  his  hand).     Good-bye  —  Hesta! 
THE  GIRL  (reaching  down  her  hand).     Good-bye  —  David. 
THE  BOY  (holding  it).     Please,  may  I  kiss  your  hand? 
THE  GIRL.     Oh,  no!     (He  does  so)    There  —  you've  done  it! 

[Crossly. 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  209 

THE  BOY  (tenderly).     God  bless  you! 
[The  Girl  disappears  without  a  word. 

THE  BOY  (in  agony) .     Oh,  please  —  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you ! 
I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you 

THE  GIRL  (shyly,  peeping  over  the  wall).     Of  course  I  under- 
stood! 

THE  BOY  (bewildered  and  dazed).     Understood  —  what  do  you 
mean  —  understood  what? 

THE   GIRL   (slowly  and  tenderly).     What  your  music  meant, 
David. 
[Disappears  in  a  flash. 

THE  BOY  (in  rapture).     Oh! 

[Tries  to  climb  the  wall  —  the  barrel  upsets,  and  he  tumbles 
down  with  a  crash  into  the  arms  of  Paul. 

PAUL  (to  David  —  after  helping  to  pick  him  up).     Are  you  hurt, 
David,  —  oh,  are  you  hurt? 

THE  BOY  (joyously).     No,  no!     Of  course  I'm  not  hurt!     Come! 
Let's  go  and  tell  my  father. 

[Music.  Enter  the  Guard  from  left,  the  Sergeant  carrying  an 
old-fashioned  lantern.  In  step  to  his  music,  the  Boy  comes  down 
to  them,  still  playing.  Paul  follows,  dragging  the  barrel.  The 
Guard  marches  off.  The  Boy  falls  into  step  and  marches, 
gaily  playing  behind  them  —  with  his  face  towards  the  wall 
which  is  almost  lost  in  darkness.  Paul  shoulders  the  barrel  and 
falls  into  step.  All  exeunt. 

END   OF   SCENE  I 


SCENE  II 
The  Toymaker's. 

A  most  wonderful  room  —  tall  and  narrow.  A  high  bow- 
window  at  rear,  through  which  one  sees  the  top  of  a  high  tower  and 
the  enormous  face  of  a  clock  —  only  V,  VI,  and  VII  o'clock  being 
visible.  The  great  hands  move  slowly  by,  at  stated  intervals. 
The  windows  are  leaded  with  diamond-shaped  panes.  A  door  to 


270          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

left,  with  two  steps  leading  up  to  it,  and  a  wooden  railing  on  either 
side.  A  wooden  balcony  at  right,  railed.  Entrance  at  right. 
The  bow-window  alcove  at  rear.  Each  window  has  a  window- 
seat,  with  worn  and  threadbare  curtains  of  grey-vermillion.  Table 
at  rear  on  which  is  a  big  lamp  with  a  green  shade.  The  table  is 
filled  with  pots  of  paint  —  and  a  sort  of  easel  on  which  the  Toy- 
maker  places  each  doll  as  he  paints  it.  There  is  another  table 
with  a  lamp  and  a  small  carpenter  bench. 

Shelves  line  the  rear  walls,  on  which  are  dolls1  heads,  masks, 
wooden  soldiers,  jumping- jacks,  etc.  Models  of  old-fashioned 
ships  hang  from  the  ceiling;  also  a  huge  pantomime  mask  of  a 
giant,  now  dusty  and  shabby  with  age.  Pictures  are  on  the  walls; 
also  a  comic  cartoon  and  a  series  of  smaller  pictures  telling  a  funny 
story. 

Evening.  Both  lamps  are  lighted.  The  curtain  goes  up  on  the 
pealing  of  the  chimes  of  Nuremberg,  without.  The  clock  strikes 
five.  The  Toymaker  is  seen  sitting  at  the  rear  table,  putting  dolls' 
heads  on  with  infinite  care.  He  is  dressed  in  a  long,  light  blue 
blouse,  covered  with  every  conceivable  colour  of  dried  paint,  where 
he  has  wiped  his  brushes.  The  Toymaker  is  a  tiny,  wistful  old 
man,  with  a  high,  bald  head  and  surprised,  wistful  eyes.  He  wears 
enormous  tortoise-shell  spectacles  at  the  end  of  his  nose  when  he 
works.  He  works  as  if  he  loved  it  beyond  life.  The  chimes  grow 
fainter.  A  cane  and  picture  are  on  a  chair. 

And  the  audience  hear  him  breathlessly,  softly,  whistling  a 
simple  child  song.  He  stops  when  his  work  gets  difficult.  Then 
he  begins  again  with  renewed  vigour  when  the  difficulty  is  over- 
come. It  is  more  like  a  wheeze  than  a  whistle.  A  timid  knock 
is  heard  at  the  door.  The  Toymaker,  lost  to  the  world,  whistles  and 
works  on.  The  door  opens  and  two  little  Girls  come  in,  mothering 
an  even  smaller  Boy.  They  come  and  stand  with  backs  to  audience, 
close  to  the  Toymaker,  and  watch  him  work  with  the  profound 
attention  of  childhood. 

FIRST  CHILD  (after  a  long  pause).  Please,  Herr  Toymaker,  we 
have  come  to  see  how  the  dolls  are  born!  (The  Toymaker 
turns  and  stares  at  them  with  his  brush  in  the  air,  a  doll,  steadied 
in  his  other  hand,  —  all  the  while  whistling  his  little  air.  A  pause) 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  271 

Please,  Herr  Toymaker,  we  have  come  to  see  how  dolls  are 
born.  You  told  us  we  could ! 

THE  TOYMAKER  (with  mystery,  as  he  holds  the  doll  up).     You  have 
to  see  how  the  dolls  are  born!    Watch!     (The  Children  at 
once  sit  down  and  look  up  at  him)     This  is  a  lady  —  she  is 
almost  ready  to  love  her  little  mama! 
[Continues  whistling. 

FIRST  CHILD.     Isn't  she  finished  yet? 

THE  TOYMAKER  (more  mysteriously) .     Not  yet!     I  have  to  give 
her  a  heart  before  she  can  love! 
[Continues  whistling. 

FIRST  CHILD.  How  do  you  give  her  a  heart,  Herr  Toy- 
maker? 

THE  TOYMAKER.    Ssst!    To  give  her  a  heart  is  very  difficult! 

A  slip  of  my  hand  and It  is  very  difficult  —  watch !  (Picks 

up  a  little  red  paper  heart)  Here  is  the  heart,  see  —  I  put  it 
(does  so)  inside  this  little  doll  —  so  —  and  —  now  she  is  born. 
[Holds  it  up.  The  door  opens  and  a  very  pretty  woman  of  fifty 
enters.  She  stands  and  smiles  at  the  group,  half  hidden  off 
right. 

FIRST  CHILD.    May  we  have  her,  please?  —  Herr  Toymaker? 

TOYMAKER  (flustered).  Oh!  —  Oh!  Oh,  no  —  I  am  sorry  — 
this  lady  and  all  these  other  ladies  are  for  little  children  like 
you  in  America!  Sometimes  I  wonder  how  my  little  people 
fare  out  over  there.  If  their  hands  and  eyes  and  arms  and 
legs  are  pulled  off!  The  outside  world  is  a  hard  place!  (be- 
comes lost  in  thought)  —  a  hard  place ! 

THE  BOY  (crying,  half  rising).     Boo-hoo!     I  want  ze  dolly! 

TOYMAKER  (frightened).  Please  —  please!  I'm  sorry!  (Picks 
up  a  Jack-in-the-box  and  lets  it  off.  It  jumps  three  feet  in  the 
air.  The  Children  scream  and  get  up)  Here!  I've  got  this 
for  you  —  see ! 

FIRST  CHILD.     Has  it  got  a  heart,  too,  Herr  Toymaker? 

TOYMAKER.  A  heart!  No,  he  couldn't  do  what  he  does  if  he 
had! 

THE  BOY..    Boo-hoo  —  I  wantz  ze  dolly! 

[The  little  Boy  keeps  on  crying  till  he  gets  the  doll;  then  laughs. 


A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

TOYMAKER.     Hush  —  sssh !  —  here  —  take    her,    quick  —  and 

run  away  before  I  change  my  mind  or  my  wife  sees  me. 

[Gives  Jack  to  the  Girl,  running  to  the  door,  and  doll  to  the  Boy. 
CHILDREN.     Thank  you,  Herr  Toymaker! 
TOYMAKER.     Be  good  to  her  —  she  is  alive  —  she  is  born  —  her 

heart  is  very  new  —  it  might  break !     Good-bye ! 
CHILDREN.     Good-bye,  Herr  Toymaker! 

[Exeunt  down  left.    He  stands  waving  to  them.    He  takes  off 

his    spectacles  —  wipes    them  —  and,    beginning    to    whistle 

eagerly  again,  he  trots  back  to  his  table  and  is  about  to  sit. 
FRAU  BUDEL  (sternly).     Abraham! 

TOYMAKER  (overcome  with  guilt).     Oh,  is  that  you,  Emma! 
FRAU  BUDEL  (going  towards  him,  sternly}.  Yes,  it's  "me  Emma"! 

Why  did  you  give  away  that  good  doll?     It's  worth  one  mark ! 

Can  I  never  stop  you?    How  can  we  live  if  you  give  away 

everything  you  make! 
TOYMAKER.     Please,  the  little  fellow,  he  wanted  it,  —  he  said 

he  wanted  it !    When  a  child  cries,  —  (looks  at  her)  Emma,  we 

don't  like  to  hear  a  child's  cry ! : — do  we ?    And  you  —  please  — 

you  mustn't  scold  on  our  wedding-day.     [Sits. 
FRAU  BUDEL  (coming  to  him,  and  putting  her  arms  about  him, 

with  tenderness  in  her  voice).     Oh,  Abraham,  please  —  please 

try  and  be  wise. 
TOYMAKER  (nodding  his  head).     I'll  try. 

[Goes  back  to  work. 
FRAU  BUDEL.    Yes  —  you  must  (crosses)  because  we  have  heard 

this  rumour  —  (Toymaker  is  interested)  —  how  in  America  — 

in  Kansas  City  —  dolls  are  going  out  of  fashion,  and  these 

fur  bears  are  what  the  children  like  more. 
TOYMAKER  (rises  and  goes  up,  stopping  work) .    Yes,  these  Teddy 

Bears !     Pooh  —  (comes   back)   it's   nonsense  —  A   child's  a 

child  —  and  a  doll  —  well  —  is  a  doll ! 

[Crosses  left. 
FRAU  BUDEL.     I  know,  but,  Abraham,  it's  all  the  more  reason 

why  you  should  not  give  away  your  dolls,  but  try  and  save 

your  money.     It's  a  warning  to  you! 
TOYMAKER.    Yes,  Emma! 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  273 

FRAU  BUDEL.  This  is  our  wedding-day,  Abraham.  (She  sits. 
To  him)  We've  been  married  all  these  years  —  all  these 
years  —  and  if  we  had  saved  our  money  we  wouldn't  have 

been  so  poor  now,  nor  would  you  have  to  work  on  a  salary 

for  this  American  firm. 
TOYMAKER.     Yes,  I'm  a  spendthrift. 
FRAU  BUDEL.     And  there's  our  son  David,  —  you  don't  want 

him  to  run  away,  as  our  first  boy  —  Adolph,  —  did  —  do  you? 
TOYMAKER.    No !    Adolph  —  how    long    has    he    been    away 

now? 
FRAU  BUDEL.     Twenty  years!     Our  first  boy  —  Oh,  Abraham, 

not  a  line,  not  a  letter  for  such  a  long  time! 
TOYMAKER  (consolingly  patting  her  shoulder).     Only  four  years 

ago,  Emma !    He  was  in  —  was  in  —  was  in  —  oh,  yes  — 

Col-o-rado  S  —  Sprinks! 

FRAU  BUDEL.     I  only  ask  you  —  dear  Abraham  —  to  be  care- 
ful —  be  a  little  more  selfish  —  think  of  yourself  —  and  me  — 

and  David.     The  world  is  not  what  it  was  —  it  has  grown  so 

commercial  —  all  is  business  now  —  and  self ! 
TOYMAKER  (nodding).     You're  right,  Emma,  as  you  always  are, 

my  dear.     I'll  be  selfish !    Yes  —  I'll  be  selfish ! 
FRAU  BUDEL  (putting  her  cheek  to  his  heart).     Please  —  oh, 

please  try,  my  dear  boy!     (To  him,  with  her  hand  on  his 

shoulder)     Now ! 
TOYMAKER.     I  will  —  all  will  be  for  self  —  all  will  be  business 

now! 
FRAU  BUDEL  (feeling  his  coat  where  her  face  rested).     Why,  what 

is  this  you've  got  in  your  pocket,  Abraham? 
TOYMAKER.     Eh?     (Feels  his  breast-pocket  for  a  moment,  then, 

with  excitement  coming  into  his  face)     Ach!    I  almost  forgot! 

Oh,  my  goodness  —  I  almost  forgot  —  (Brings  out  a  little 

jewel-case  and  opens  it;  puts  the  box  on  the  table;  it  contains  a 

simple  gold  bracelet.     He  holds  it  up)  See  —  see,  my  Emma  — 

(she  backs  away  a  little)  my  wedding  present. 

FRAU  BUDEL.      What? 

TOYMAKER  (proudly).     A  diamond! 
[Leaning  on  chair.    Eyes  down. 


274  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

FRAU  BUDEL  (weeping  and  laughing).     Oh,  Abraham,  what  shall 
I  do  with  you! 

TOYMAKER  (childishly) .     I  don't  know,  Emma,  I  don't  know! 
See  —  it  is  a  little  fellow  —  but  he  is  there  all  the  same ! 

FRAU  BUDEL.     Oh,  Abraham! 

TOYMAKER.  And  see.  (Holds  it  up.  Goes  to  her)  I  have 
had  it  written  here  —  inside  —  here  —  I  hold  it  so  —  so! 
There  —  see  —  (Tenderness  coming  into  his  voice  as  he  reads) 
"Love  is  my  wealth"  —  Can  you  see  it? 
[She  tries  to  read,  but  cannot  for  tears,  and  takes  up  his  hand 
and  kisses  it  with  a  sob. 

FRAU  BUDEL.     My  dear  boy  —  my  dear  boy ! 

TOYMAKER  (holding  her  tightly).  "Love  is  my  wealth."  Now 
let  me  put  it  on  —  so !  (She  holds  up  her  hand,  and  he  is 
putting  it  on  when  there  is  a  heavy,  military  knock  at  the  door. 
They  rise,  still  holding  hands  like  embarrassed  children.  Guil- 
tily) We  are  caught  —  Emma!  (A  shy  pause)  Come  in! 
(Enter  the  Sergeant  and  the  Poet.  The  Sergeant  carries  a  hand- 
mirror  in  a  paper  parcel,  and  the  Poet  an  enormous  bouquet  of 
flowers)  We  are  caught!  —  Ah,  Sergeant  Strumpf  —  Ah, 
Stauffenbach! 

THE  SERGEANT.  We  saw  your  boy  just  now,  studying  the 
twilight. 

POET  (brushes  Sergeant  aside).  Hush!  (Crosses  to  centre) 
Madam,  we  two  old  fellows  come  to  congratulate  the  bride! 

FRAU  BUDEL  (deprecatingly) .  A  bride!  A  forty  years  old 
bride  —  oh ! 

THE  SERGEANT  (crossly).  The  bride,  Madam!  —  and  we  have 
brought  you  a  token  of  our  deep  affection  —  and  (To  her. 
Quickly  giving  her  the  hand-mirror)  —  and  —  you  have  al- 
ways been  a  nice  girl,  Emma! 

FRAU  BUDEL  (Budel  encourages  the  Poet  to  begin).  Oh,  thank 
you,  Jonathan! 

POET  (Coming  down  left.  Emma  hides  mirror.  Histrionically). 
In  all  the  course  of  my  political  career  as  a  poet,  I  have  never 
been  so  moved  as  in  this  present  festive  and  triumphal 
occasion.  I  remember  —  years  ago 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  275 

BUDEL.     Emma!  ! 

SERGEANT  (gruffly).     Halt!     No  memories! 

POET  (Budel  pacifies  him).  Pshaw!  You  have  spoilt  my 
speech  now !  Sergeant  Strumpf !  (Sergeant  goes  up)  Emma 
—  your  old  friend  loves  you  like  a  brother,  and  he  gives  you 
these  poor  flowers  with  the  hope  (Sergeant  laughs)  —  with 
the  hope 

BUDEL.     Ha  —  ha 

POET. with   the   hope.     (Giving  it  up  and  gaily)     Come* 

Jonathan,  we  kiss  the  bride ! 

[Then   kisses  her  hand.     Sergeant  pushes  him   aside  —  and 

kisses  her  on  the  cheek.     Emma  puts  things  on  chair. 

TOYMAKER.     Dear  —  dear    old    fellows  —  the    two    presents! 
(Crosses  to  Emma.     Quickly)     Emma,  bring  our  presents! 
[She  brings  back  bouquet  and  mirror  first. 

BUDEL.     No!     No!     Our  presents! 

[Laugh  between  Emma  and  Budel,  as  she  hands  presents.  She 
brings  a  cane  and  a  picture. 

TOYMAKER.      This  cane    for  you,   old  Poet,   friend,   see  —  it 
is  tall   and  has   a   tassel.      You  can  make  fine  attitudes 
with  it! 
[Hands  cane. 

POET.  Oh,  I've  dreamt  of  a  cane  like  this —  (Emma  puts  pic- 
ture behind  her  back.  Brings  cane  up  and  nearly  strikes 
Sergeant  with  it;  steps  back)  —  how  did  you  know  I  wanted  it, 
Abraham? 

TOYMAKER.  Have  I  not  known  you  for  forty  years !  And  you, 
my  old  friend,  Sergeant  Strumpf  —  you  who  have  fought  in 
a  hundred  battles  and  been  covered  in  glory  —  you  who  have 
more  medals  than  most  generals!  I  have  for  you  a  picture 
of  your  old  commander  —  that  man  who  was  called  "The 
Silent  in  Seven  Languages". 

[The  Toymaker  puts  the  picture  on  the  mantel-piece.  The  old 
Soldier  hobbles  up  to  it,  lifts  up  the  patch  over  his  eye  and  looks 
at  it  a  long  time  in  silence,  —  then  salutes  it,  —  and  turns  in  a 
broken  voice  to  the  Toymaker. 

SERGEANT.     That  —  that   was    kind   of   you,    Abraham !     (A 


276          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

pause  as  he  stares  at  the  picture)     When  my  brother  died  — 

he  —  (Points  tremblingly  at  the  picture)     He  wrote  me ! 

[All  talk  at  once  to  cover  his  weakness,  when  a  bell  is  heard. 

Frau  Budel  runs  to  the  window  and  looks  down  into  the  street. 
FRAU    BUDEL.     It's    Herr    Kronfeldt,    your    employer,  —  he's 

coming  to  see  you  on  business. 
TOYMAKER.     Please  all  of  you  leave  me  with  him.     (Sergeant 

takes    picture)     Please  —  only    a    moment.     Emma  —  take 

them  into  the  other  room  and  open  that  Bocksburtel  bottle, 

—  the  one  with  the  red  wax,  on  the  lower  shelf ! 

[She  starts.     Sergeant  crosses  stage,  followed  by  Poet. 
FRAU  BUDEL.     Oh,  can't  I  stay,  Abraham?     [Stops. 
TOYMAKER.     No,  please,  I  have  something  to  say  to  him.     It's 

all  business  now  —  all  business.     (A  knock  at  the  door.   Frau 

Budel,  with  the  two  Men,  exits)     Come  in! 

[Enter  Herr  Kronfeldt,  a  fat,  pale-faced,  fair-haired  man.     He 

is  dressed  in  a  tall  hat  and  frock  coat,  and  carries  a  huge  brown 

paper  parcel,  tied  with  string. 
KRONFELDT   (standing  in  the  doorway  and  mopping  his  head 

with  a  silk  handkerchief) .     Phew !     Those  stairs !     [Puts  parcel 

down. 

TOYMAKER.     Come  in,  Herr  Kronfeldt! 
KRONFELDT.     No,  I've  only  come  for  a  minute.     Budel,  have 

you  changed  your  mind? 

TOYMAKER.       No,  sir! 

KRONFELDT.     I'm  sorry,  for  then  I'll  have  to  cut  your  wages 

down  one  half! 

TOYMAKER  (nodding).     Yes,  sir! 
KRONFELDT.     It's  your  own  fault,  Budel,  —  you  should  try  and 

keep  up  with  the  times.     I  tell  you,  dolls  have  gone  out  of 

fashion  in  Kansas  City;  the  children  like  these  bears  better! 
TOYMAKER.     Yes  —  the  "Teddy  Bears!" 
KRONFELDT  (pompously) .     Yes  —  the  "  Teddy  Bears  " !     I  want 

you  to  give  up  making  your  dolls  —  which  I  admit  are  the 

best  there  are  —  and  make  these  bears  now ! 
TOYMAKER.     Please  —  I  can't  —  I  am  sorry  —  but  my  life  is 

with  my  dolls.     My  father  —  and  his  father,  and  his  father 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  277 

before  him,  have  always  made  these  dolls.  (Holds  one  up) 
It's  not  human  nature,  Herr  Kronfeldt,  to  change  now,  and 
make  these  bears!  No!  I  can't  do  it  —  I  can't  do  it! 

KRONFELDT  (kindly).  I  know  it's  hard,  but  I  only  want  you 
to  try,  Budel.  I  want  you  to  try.  You  have  been  our  best 
worker,  and  I  don't  want  to  lose  you !  Here  —  I  have 
(begins  to  untie  the  parcel)  brought  one  of  these  fur  bears  — 
these  Teddy  Bears  —  for  you  to  work  from.  (Produces  a 
large,  white,  grinning  bear,  and  holds  it  up)  There  —  isn't 
it  a  beauty? 

TOYMAKER.  No,  sir.  (Budel  puts  on  his  glasses)  I  can't  see 
any  beauty  in  it  compared  to  a  doll.  There  is  no  scope  for 
art.  (Kronfeldt  lowers  the  bear)  I  can't  do  it. 

KRONFELDT.     The  man  in  America  has  made  a  fortune  out  of 
these  bears.     (Budel  shakes  his  head  in  a  dazed  way)     They 
call  him  over  there  the  "Teddy  Bear  King!" 
[Holds  bear  up. 

TOYMAKER.     "The  Teddy  Bear  King ! " 

KRONFELDT  (puts  it  on  shelf).  Yes,  that's  it.  Well,  now  I'll 
leave  it  (points  to  bear)  with  you — perhaps  you'll  change  your 
mind.  If  you  don't — remember — I'll  have  to  cut  your  wages ! 

TOYMAKER.      Yes,  sir! 

KRONFELDT.     Good-evening ! 

TOYMAKER.     Good-night,   sir!  —  Oh,  how  is  Fraulein  Hesta, 

your  daughter? 
KRONFELDT.     Well,  I  thank  you,  Budel.     Again  —  good-night. 

Oh,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  about  these  bears,  —  you  see  the  legs 

and  arms  are  adjustable!     So! 

[Works  its  arms  and  legs. 
TOYMAKER.     Yes,  sir! 
KRONFELDT.     Good-night ! 
TOYMAKER.     Good-night,  sir! 

(Exit  Kronfeldt.     The  Toymaker  is  left  alone.     He  walks  up  to 

the  bear  on  table.     He  stares  at  it,  adjusting  his  spectacles  and 

sitting  down  before  it)     You  bad  wild  beast  —  (backs  a  step) 
-  you  come  into  this  house  like  the  wolf!     Is  it  my  fault  that 

children  like  my  dolls  no  more  —  in  that  Kansas  City !     So 


278  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

you  are  the  devourer  of  my  trade!  No,  I  won't  —  you  are 
bad  —  you  are  hideous  —  I  won't  make  you!  I'll  have  my 
wages  cut.  I  am  too  proud  to  make  —  Teddy  Bears! 
[Sits.  Enter  the  Boy,  timidly  and  noiselessly,  at  door.  He  tip- 
toes towards  his  father,  showing,  in  every  line  of  his  figure  and 
attitude,  fear  of  his  father's  anger.  The  Toymaker  mutters 
aloud  at  the  Teddy  Bear,  which  makes  the  Boy  start.  He 
finally  goes  up  to  his  father  and  kneels  beside  him,  yearningly. 
A  pause.  The  Toymaker  mutters  to  himself. 

THE  BOY  (in  a  frightened  whisper).     Father! 

TOYMAKER.     "The  Teddy  Bear  King"  —  is  he! 

BOY.     Father  —  listen  to  me ! 

TOYMAKER.     David —  ah!     (Then  angry)     These  bears,  David, 
these  bears,  they  fill  me  with  anger! 

BOY  (pleadingly).     Father! 

TOYMAKER   (looking  at  the  Boy9s  face) .     My  son  —  what  has 
happened,  —  what  is  this  look  on  your  face? 

BOY  (weakly).     Father! 

TOYMAKER.     My  son  —  my  boy  —  what  is  this? 

BOY.     Please,  sir,  Love  has  come  into  my  heart! 

TOYMAKER  (gently).     What!     (The  Toymaker  turns  completely, 
around,  awe  and  respect  coming  into  his  face)     You  mean  — 
David  —  you  love  someone? 

THE  BOY  (fearfully).     Yes  —  Father! 

TOYMAKER  (putting  his  arm  on  the  boy's  shoulder,  in  an  awed 
voice).     Do  you  realize,  my  son,  what  you  say! 

BOY  (draws  back).     Yes,  Father!     I  do.     I  did  hope  you  would 
not  be  angry! 

TOYMAKER.     Angry!    Me!    Why  —  David!     It  is  like  finding 
treasure  in  the  sands !     My  son  —  I  have  prayed  for  this ! 

BOY  (with  joy) .     Oh,  Father! 

TOYMAKER  (swings  Boy  to  his  left,  then  rises).  I  rejoice  —  my 
son!  Emma!  Strumpf!  Stauffenbach!  Come  —  come  in! 
Ah,  this  is  wonderful  —  wonderful !  —  and  only  a  moment 
since  I  was  sad  and  unhappy  about  bears;  —  but  now  I  re- 
joice !  God  has  been  good ! 
[Enter  Emma  and  the  others. 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  279 

FRAU  BUDEL.     What  —  what  is  the  matter? 
TOYMAKER.     Our  son  —  our  (laughs  happily)  baby,  here,  has 
found  his  love  lady! 

ALL  THREE.       What! 

TOYMAKER  (almost  hopping  with  excitement) .  Yes  —  yes  —  yes ! 
and  we  must  have  a  feast !  Here  —  Strumpf  —  order  at  the 
caterer's  —  beer  —  icing  cakes  —  all !  Where  is  she  —  (to  the 
Boy)  I  must  call  on  her  —  you  must  help  me  dress !  My 
Sunday  tie  —  the  green  coat  with  the  brass  buttons  down 
here  (points),  I  must  make  a  good  impression  —  as  the  father 
of  the  bridegroom ! 

FRAU  BUDEL.  But  —  Abraham  —  our  son  —  he  only  paints  eye- 
lashes on  dolls ! 

TOYMAKER.     Well  —  Madam ! 
[Arms  around  the  Boy. 

FRAU  BUDEL.  How  can  he  marry?  He  has  no  money,  —  he 
can't  keep  a  wife  on  dolls'  eyelashes!  (Turns  and  steps  to 
Poet  and  Sergeant)  Dear  Abraham,  you  must  know  that  it 
is  impossible  for  our  son  to  marry ! 

TOYMAKER.  Impossible!  —  you  tell  me  this?  —  when  God  has 
blessed  us  so !  —  and  brought  love  into  our  home !  Have  you 
forgotten  how  we  got  married!  You  talk  of  painting  eye- 
lashes !  Pshaw !  you  and  I  got  married  on  one  mark  —  and 
look  at  us  now 

FRAU  BUDEL.    Abraham! 

TOYMAKER.  What  has  brought  us  here  —  step  by  step  —  stone 
by  stone?  Emma,  this  miracle  of  love!  Love!  You  talk  — 
everyone  talks  —  of  the  world  getting  hard  —  cold  business  — 
all  for  self!  Do  you  think  I  could  have  sat  at  that  table 
there  —  (points)  day  in  and  day  out  —  working  —  and  work- 
ing—  till  my  back  is  bent  out  of  shape  and  my  fingers 
crooked  —  for  self?  No  —  love  for  you,  my  Emma  (goes 
to  her),  did  it,  love  will  always  do  it!  —  and  yet,  you 
come  to  me  and  talk  of  his  not  getting  married  because 
he  paints  eyelashes  on  dolls  and  has  no  money!  Shame! 
Shame ! 

FRAU  BUDEL  (weeping).    Abraham! 


280          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

TOYMAKER.    No  —  I  am  cross.     (Rises)     I  appeal  to  my  old 

friends  here!    Strumpf  —  do  you  believe  in  this  love? 
SERGEANT  (gruffly).     I'll  tell  you  how  much  I  believe  in  love  — 

I  won  these  honours  for  a  girl.     She  wouldn't  have  me.     I'd 

give  all  —  everything  for  one  day  of  my  youth. 
TOYMAKER  (going  and  putting  his  hand  on  the  Sergeant's  shoulder). 

Old  friend !     (A  pause)     And  you,  my  poet  friend  —  do  you 

believe  in  this  love? 

[Sergeant  sits  down.     Toymaker  steps  to  the  Poet. 
.POET  (proudly  and  slowly}.     It  has  made  me  the  man  I  am! 

[Sweeps  up  to  bench  and  sits. 
TOYMAKER.   There !   You  see !    ( Then  gaily)    Emma  —  quick  — 

I  must  go  out  at  once  and  meet  her.     Come  —  and  get  my 

clothes  for  me !     (A  pause)     Gott  in  Himmel !  —  I  forgot  to 

ask,  —  who  is  the  girl,  David? 
BOY.     Fraulein  Hesta  Kronfeldt! 

[Rises. 

TOYMAKER  (pleased).     What!     My  employer's  daughter! 
BOY.     Yes,  Father! 
TOYMAKER.     Ah,  Kronfeldt  will  indeed  be  pleased!     He  has 

always  liked  David.     Come  —  I  must  go !     (Frau  Budel  exits. 

Shyly)     Listen,  David —  (The  Boy  crosses  to  him)     You  go 

on,  and   tell   Fraulein  Hesta  your  old  father's  coming  to 

see  her! 

BOY.     Bring  Nebuchadnezzar  —  she  wants  to  see  him,  too. 
TOYMAKER.     She  does?  —  There  —  didn't  I  tell  you  she  was  a 

nice  girl!     She  likes  dogs! 

[Exit.    As  the  Boy  goes  towards  the  door,  the  Sergeant  speaks 

to  him. 

SERGEANT.     Good  luck  —  my  boy ! 
POET.     Good  luck! 
BOY.     Tkank  you,  sir 

[Exit.     The  Sergeant  and  Poet  are  left  alone.     There  is  silence 

as  they  simultaneously  take  out  their  pipes,  and  fill  and  light 

them. 

POET  (after  a  pause).     Well,  sir! 
SERGEANT  (with  a  grunt).    Umph!     [They  turn  together. 


The  Toy  maker  of  Nuremberg  281 

POET.  I'm  afraid  the  girl's  father  won't  be  so  enthusiastic  as 
we  are! 

SERGEANT.     Kronfeldt  won't  hear  of  it!     David  has  nothing! 

POET.     Neither  have  we ! 

SERGEANT  (smoking).     Neither  have  we! 

POET.  You  are  the  soldier  —  you  have  been  taught  to  plan  and 
attack.  Now,  what  can  we  do  to  help  Abraham  and  these 
young  people? 

SERGEANT.  Let  me  think.  (Pause,  as  both  smoke  in  silence) 
Ah! 

POET.     What? 

SERGEANT.     I  might  kill  Kronfeldt.     [A  pause. 

POET.     The  idea  is  good  —  but  —  diplomacy  is  better! 

SERGEANT  (turns  to  him).     You  think  so? 

POET  (turns).     Yes  —  I  think  so! 

SERGEANT.  Ah!  (They  both  become  lost  in  thought  again,  smok- 
ing silently.  A  timid  knock  is  heard  at  the  door.  Gruffly) 
Come  in!  (Enter  Paul,  who  stands  breathless.  Sharply) 
Well,  sir? 

PAUL.     Please  —  please  —  has  David  been  here? 

SERGEANT.      YeS he's  gone. 

PAUL.     Oh! 
[Hesitating. 

SERGEANT.      Well,  Sir? 

PAUL.  Ple-ase  —  do  you  know  if  David  told  his  father  any- 
thing? I've  come  to  hear  how  Herr  Budel  took  it! 

POET.  All  is  well.  Abraham  was  well  pleased,  and  so  are  we! 
Abraham  goes  now  to  see  Herr  Kronfeldt. 

PAUL  (awestruck) .     Ah !  —  But 

SERGEANT.     Well,  sir? 

PAUL.  I  don't  think  Herr  Kronfeldt  will  like  it  —  he  is  a  very 
ferocious  man! 

POET  (rises).  That's  just  what  we've  been  saying,  my  boy! 
Have  you  any  idea  of  what  we  can  do  to  help  them?  [Turns 
to  Paul. 

PAUL  (dolefully).  No,  sir.  (He  speaks  wisely.  Both  men  look 
at  each  other)  I  don't  know  what  to  do. 


A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

POET.     We  can't  have  Abraham's  heart  broken. 

PAUL.     No,  sir. 

POET.  Nor  the  young  people's,  either!  What  can  we  do? 

PAUL  (as  the  Poet  turns  to  him).     Please,  sir  (takes  out  a  book), 

I  read  in  this  book  —  about  a  young  couple,  who  were  almost 

the  same  as  David  and  Fraulein  Hesta! 

SERGEANT.     Well,  sir!     (Paul  turns  to  him)     What  did  they  do? 
PAUL  (to  Sergeant).     They  eloped,  sir! 
SERGEANT.     Eloped! 
POET  (steps  down).     Eloped!     (Paul  looks  at  Poet)     It's  against 

our  law  —  but  the  fathers  generally  come  round  —  once  it's 

done! 

SERGEANT.     Young  man  —  you  will  be  a  general! 
PAUL.     Yes,  sir! 
SERGEANT.     Your  idea  is  a  brilliant  one  —  (To  Poet)     Abraham 

would  like  nothing  better.     It's  what  he  calls  "romantic," 

eh? 
POET.     Yes,  it's  beautiful!     It  could  be  arranged  for  next  week 

some  time. 

SERGEANT  (banging  the  table).    To-night,  sir! 
PAUL  (to  Sergeant).     But  —  sir! 
POET.     But  — 
SERGEANT  (Bangs  the  table.     Paul  retires  a  little  —  scared.   With 

a  roar).     To-night!     I'm  a  soldier  —  and  I've  learned  one 

thing.     In  a  plan  of  action  —  act  at  once ! 
POET  (puts  cane  down).     But  it's  too  sudden  —  the  young  people 

are  not  ready !     It's  too  quick! 
SERGEANT.     Silence!    No  broken  reeds  here!    How  does  one 

elope,  my  poet  friend? 
POET  (puzzled).     How  does  one  elope? 
PAUL  (as  the  Poet  turns  on  him).     Please,  sir,  in  the  books  they 

always  elope  in  a  coach  and  six! 
SERGEANT.     Well,  we'll   make   it   a   coach   and   one.     (Rises) 

We'll  go  and  hire  it  at  once!     In  an  hour's  time! 
POET  (as  the  Sergeant  turns  to  him).     I  protest  —  it's  too  sudden, 

Sergeant  Strumpf .     The  young  girl  will  surely  object 

SERGEANT.     Bah !  —  you're  a  fool ! 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  283 

POET.    A  fool,  sir! 

SERGEANT.  Can't  you  see  if  the  girl  is  afraid  to  elope,  then 
she  is  not  worth  the  boy's  love  —  and  we  are  well  rid 
of  her? 

POET  (in  admiration).     You  are  right,  you  old  war  fox! 

SERGEANT.     Come,  let  us  go  hire  the  wagon  —  and  then  go  to 
Kronfeldt's  while  Abraham  is  there. 
[Going  toward  the  door. 

POET.  Wait  —  a  coach  and  one  costs  money!  [Puts  his  cane 
down. 

SERGEANT.     Good  Gott  —  we  are  done  for  at  the  start ! 

POET.  No,  —  no,  we  are  not  —  here  is  this  watch.  (Looks  up 
and  kisses  watch,  —  a  gold  one  which  he  takes  out  and  puts  on 
the  table)  It  belonged  to  Schiller !  It's  gold  —  that  will  pay 
for  the  coach  —  and  perhaps  a  little  more  left  over.  I'm 
afraid  that's  all  I  have  —  of  material  value  —  [Puts  it  on  the 
table. 

SERGEANT.  They  must  have  some  more  money  besides  paying 
for  the  coach!  I'm  afraid  I  have  nothing  —  er  —  er  — with 
me!  (Scratches  his  head;  then  sees  his  medals)  These  things 
(points  to  them)  —  they  might  bring  something! 

POET.  Oh,  no  —  not  those!  Please  —  we  have  enough  now, 
I'm  sure! 

SERGEANT  (unpinning  them  one  by  one).  This  one  —  I  won 
at  Sedan.  —  This  at  Sadova  —  and  this  —  and  this  —  (Puts 
them  in  a  heap  with  the  watch)  And  this,  I  wanted  it  here  on 
my  breast  in  the  grave.  —  I  think  I  keep  it.  Bah !  What  are 
such  fleeting  honours  to  a  boy's  happiness!  (Poet  sighs) 
Lead  us,  boy,  to  the  pawn-shop  on  the  corner. 
[The  two  exeunt  solemnly,  arm  in  arm,  Paul  going  first.  Then 
there  is  a  pause.  The  Toymaker  enters  with  his  wife  and  the 
dog.  He  is  dressed  in  a  light  green  coat,  —  a  faded  yellow 
waistcoat,  a  flaming  red  tie,  white  trousers,  tight  fitting  and  show- 
ing his  ankles,  and  blue  and  white  striped  socks.  His  feet  are 
in  gaudy  carpet  slippers.  He  carries  an  enormous  buff-coloured 
top  hat,  with  a  brown  band.  A  huge  red  silk  handkerchief 
hangs  out  of  his  coat  tails.  His  wife  follows  him  with  his  shoes, 


284  A   Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

—  little  black  ones,  lined  with  white.  She  also  carries  a  pink 
ribbon. 

TOYMAKER.  There  —  how  do  I  look  —  (Emma  kneels  to  dog, 
swings  round)  I'll  make  an  impression  —  yes?  Emma  — 
you  think  I  please  as  the  father  of  the  bridegroom? 

FRAU  BUDEL  (tying  a  large  pink  bow  on  the  dog's  collar}.  No 
woman  could  resist  you,  Abraham.  (Picking  flowers  off 
chair)  Here  —  take  this  bouquet  the  poet  gave  me 

TOYMAKER.     Oh,  no  —  that  is  for  you  —  it  is  yours 

FRAU  BUDEL.  Nonsense  —  Heinrich  wouldn't  mind  its  being 
used  for  such  a  good  cause.  You  see,  he'll  make  two  people 
happy  —  kill  two  birds  with  one  bouquet ! 

TOYMAKER  (taking  it) .  Yes  —  the  idea  is  good.  It  will  please 
her! 

FRAU  BUDEL.  Now,  good-bye  —  and  good  luck  to  you  both ! 
(Budel  watches  her.  He  kisses  her.  She  turns,  sees  shoes,  and 
picks  them  up.  He  holds  her  a  moment,  wistfully.  Then  she, 
with  the  same  wistfulness,  speaks)  He  must  have  —  he  was  so 
full  of  romance!  That  is  why  he  wanted  to  go  to  America 
to  seek  his  fortune !  Oh,  why  did  you  let  him  go  —  Abraham ! 

TOYMAKER.     I  could  not  keep  him  here  to  be  unhappy 

FRAU  BUDEL.  Oh,  let's  pray  she  is  a  sweet  girl,  Abraham !  I've 
seen  her  in  church  and  in  the  street  —  once  or  twice  —  but 
never  to  speak  to.  She  seems  a  nice  girl.  (A  sudden  crash 
of  broken  china  is  heard  without)  Oh,  what  have  you  broken 
now,  Minna? 

MINNA  (shrilly) .     Please  —  Frau  Budel  —  the  yellow  dish ! 

FRAU  BUDEL.  The  yellow  dish !  —  Oh,  I  must  go  —  the  yellow 
dish.  Abraham!  (Hurriedly  kissing  him)  Good-bye!  Now 
here  are  the  yellow  dishes  —  don't  forget  them,  and  go  call 
on  the  young  lady  in  your  carpet  slippers! 

TOYMAKER  (childishly).     No,  Emma  —  good-bye. 

FRAU  BUDEL  (as  she  goes  off).  The  yellow  dish  —  the  yellow 
dish. 

[Exits.  The  Toymaker  is  left  alone.  He  puts  on  his  hat,  takes 
his  cane,  holds  the  dog  by  the  lead,  and  carries  the  enormous 
bouquet.  He  also  carries  his  shoes  carefully  in  his  right  hand. 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  285 

He  walks  absent-mindedly  toward  the  door,  hesitates,  as  he  sees 
the  Teddy  Bear,  and  halts  in  front  of  it.  He  looks  wistfully  at 
it  for  some  time.  Then,  in  a  slightly  nervous  and  abashed 
voice,  he  speaks. 

TOYMAKER.  What  I  said  to  you  in  anger  a  few  minutes  ago  — 
I  am  sorry  for!  I  didn't  mean  you  —  personally,  Teddy 
Bear !  (A  pause  as  he  looks  at  it)  Please  —  I  didn't  mean  to 
hurt  your  feelings ! 

[He  turns  and  goes  slowly  and  absent-mindedly  out  in  his  carpet 
slippers,  wheezing  his  little  tune;  leading  his  dog;  the  bouquet 
in  his  left  hand  and  carefully  carrying  his  shoes  in  his  right. 
As  he  goes  the  bells  peal  out  and  the  curtain  falls  on  a  burst  of 
chimes  and  music. 

END   OF   ACT   I. 


ACT  II 

Inside  the  Walled  Garden.  Kronfeldt's  house.  Moonlight. 
The  stage  is  enclosed  by  the  wall  at  left  and  rear.  An  old  wooden 
door  is  in  the  wall.  Over  wall,  the  housetops  are  seen  of  the 
ancient  city  of  Nuremberg,  - —  church  spires  and  quaint  mis- 
shapened  chimneys  —  all  half -silhouetted  by  a  full  moon.  At 
right  is  Kronfeldt's  house,  with  entrance,  —  three  steps  curved,  — 
leading  to  the  main  door.  The  lower  windows  are  lighted.  A 
table  is  set  for  dinner,  with  a  lamp  burning  on  it. 

The  Girl  is  disclosed,  finishing  her  dinner  alone  in  the  garden. 
Lena,  the  fat  cook,  is  removing  the  dishes  and  taking  them  into 
the  house.  The  garden  is  full  of  flowers,  the  wall  covered  in  vines, 
and  the  trees  meet  overhead  —  giving  a  comfortable,  sheltered  ap- 
pearance to  the  scene.  Lena  goes  off  with  dishes  and  returns.  . 
THE  GIRL.  When  will  my  father  be  back  —  Lena? 
THE  COOK.  He  dines  with  the  Burgomaster;  he  will  be  back 

early,  Fraulein  Hesta! 

[About  to  light  lamp. 
THE  GIRL.     No,  don't  take  in  the  lamp,  Lena  —  please  leave  it. 

I'll  wait  out  here  for  him;  it  is  so  hot  in  the  house. 


286  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

THE  COOK.     But  here  —  it  is  so  lonesome,  Fraulein  Hesta! 
Are  you  not  afraid? 
[Song  begins. 

THE  GIRL.  Oh  no,  why  should  I  be?  It  is  so  peaceful  here! 
(sighs  deeply)  and  —  and  wonderful !  (Picks  up  her  sewing 
and  works  in  silence,  as  Lena  clears  away  the  things  on  the 
the  table,  taking  them  into  the  house  and  returning.  On  her 
return  the  Girl  looks  shyly  up  at  her,  and  asks  in  a  low  voice) 
What  more  do  you  know  of  the  Toy  maker,  Lena? 

THE  COOK.     What,  still  the  Toymaker,  Fraulein  Hesta! 

THE  GIRL.     Yes,  I  am  interested  in  him,  Lena ! 

THE  COOK  (takes  things).  I  have  told  you  everything  I  know 
of  him  twice  over;  stop  —  I  forgot  about  his  son,  Adolf! 

THE  GIRL  (puzzled).     His  son  Adolf? 

THE  COOK.     Yes,  he  has  two  sons  —  one  Adolf  and  one  David. 

THE  GIRL  (shyly).     Yes  —  David.     (Interestedly)     Yes,  Lena! 

THE  COOK  (explaining  with  a  spoon).  Well,  the  boy  Adolf  — 
pah  —  it  is  twenty  years  or  more  —  he  was  a  wild  boy,  and 
wanted  to  go  to  America.  His  father,  the  Toymaker,  in- 
stead of  giving  him  a  whipping  and  keeping  him  at  home, 
like  a  fool  went  and  paid  his  passage  over  there,  and  sent  him  off. 

THE  GIRL.     Where  is  he  now,  Lena? 

THE  COOK.  Somewhere  there;  he  writes  once  in  four  or  five 
years.  That's  what  I  call  an  ungrateful  son!  It  serves 
Abraham  Budel  right  —  children  are  never  grateful. 

THE  GIRL  (timidly).     And  —  and  David  —  Lena? 

THE  COOK  (in  disgust).  What,  the  younger  one  —  pah!  He 
is  a  fool  —  always  playing  on  his  flute.  His  mind  is  just 
like  his  father's  —  always  in  the  clouds! 

THE  GIRL  (thoughtfully).     Oh! 

THE  COOK.     Yes,  he  paints  the  eyelashes  on  the  dolls! 

THE  GIRL.     Oh! 

THE  COOK.  I  leave  you  now,  Fraulein  Hesta.  I'll  be  in  the 
kitchen.  Ring  the  bell  if  you  want  me.  Your  father  will 
be  home  before  I've  finished  the  dishes. 

THE  GIRL.     Thank  you,  Lena! 

[Exit  the  Cook  heavily.     A  long  silence.     Music  low  and  ex- 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  287 

pedant.  The  Girl  lets  the  sewing  drop  into  her  lap  as  she 
stares  in  front  of  her.  Sighs  and  then  takes  up  her  sewing 
again,  and  works  quietly.  A  church  bell  is  heard  ringing 
eight  o'clock  in  the  old  city  beyond.  Then  the  tramp,  tramp, 
qf  soldiers  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall.  Gruff  orders  are  heard 
of  changing  the  guard,  same  as  in  Scene  I,  of  Act  I.  The  Cook 
hobbles  out  from  the  house  with  a  shawl,  which  she  puts  on  the 
GirVs  shoulders. 

THE  COOK.  I  thought  you  might  need  this,  —  the  night  air  is 
chilly! 

THE  GIRL.     Thank  you,  Lena! 

THE  COOK  (crossing  to  hoj^e,  stopping  and  looking  up  at  the  moon 
and  taking  a  deep  breath).  What  a  beautiful  summer  night 
it  is,  Fraulein  Hesta! 

THE  GIRL.  It's  wonderful  —  one  can  hear  the  world's  heart 
beat  on  nights  like  these! 

THE  COOK  (staring  at  her  across  the  lamp).  What  a  funny  thing 
to  say!  Fraulein  Hesta,  the  world  has  no  heart. 

THE  GIRL  (timidly).     Hasn't  it? 

THE  COOK.  No  —  of  course  not!  (Two  notes  on  chimes.  The 
Girl  smiles)  The  world  has  no  heart. 

[Exits  in  the  house.  A  pause.  The  Girl  continues  to  sew 
quietly;  then  faintly  in  the  distance  a  flute  is  heard  playing  the 
little  love  air  of  David's.  It  stops.  The  Girl  rises,  drops  her 
sewing,  and  listens,  panting  with  excitement,  both  hands  on 
her  heart.  She  listens  intently  —  it  begins  again.  She  runs 
to  the  door  of  the  house  and  listens,  —  then  softly  shuts  it  — 
and  runs  to  a  climbing  rose-bush,  plucks  a  red  rose,  and  waits 
at  the  foot  of  wall.  The  ladder  is  seen  leaning  against  it. 
The  flute  comes  nearer  and  nearer,  and  then  halts,  outside  the 
wall.  The  Girl  throws  the  rose  over;  the  playing  stops  and 
then  the  Boy  is  seen  clambering  up;  with  breathless  effort  he 
succeeds,  after  a  struggle,  in  getting  one  leg  and  arm  over;  then 
he  smiles  at  her  excitedly  —  breathless  and  embarrassed. 

THE  GIRL.     Oh  —  take  care,  you'll  hurt  yourself ! 

THE  BOY  (smiling  excitedly  and  panting).     No  —  I'm  used  to  it. 

THE  GIRL.     Oh! 


288  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

THE  BOY.     Please  —  my  father's  coming! 

THE  GIRL.     Oh,  that  is  nice. 

THE  BOY.     Is  your  father  here? 

THE   GIRL.     No  —  David  —  he   has   gone   to    dine   with   the 

Burgomaster.     He'll  be  back  soon. 
THE  BOY  (still  panting).     Oh!     (Gives  another  clutch  at  the  wall 

as    he  feels    himself   slipping)      You  —  you   will    like   my 

father! 
THE  GIRL.     I  am  sure  I  will!    But  won't  you  come  inside  and 

wait? 
THE  BOY  (struggling  with  his  hold  and  overcome  with  shyness  at 

the  same  time).     Oh,  no  —  please  —  I'll  stay  here! 
THE  GIRL.     Oh  —  please  —  come  in. 
THE  BOY  (climbing  on  the  top  of  the  wall  and  sitting  on  it,  his 

legs  dangling  in  front).     I'll  sit  on  the  wall  here. 
THE  GIRL.     But  it  is  not  comfortable  for  you  there! 
THE   BOY.    Oh,   yes  —  please  —  it's   very   comfortable.     (The 

Girl  goes  back  to  her  sewing  and  begins  to  sew  in  silence.     The 

Boy  swings  his  legs  and  regards  her.     Still  embarrassed.     Out 

of  breath  —  panting)     Do  —  do  you  like  the  moonlight? 
THE  GIRL  (in  a  low  voice).     Oh,  yes. 
THE  BOY  (still  puffing).     What  did  you  say? 
THE  GIRL.     I  said  —  oh,  yes ! 
THE  BOY.     Oh!     (Another  pause)     So  do  I. 
THE  GIRL  (shyly).     Oh! 
THE  BOY  (anxiously).     What  did  you  say? 
THE  GIRL.     I  —  I  said  "  oh  " ! 
THE  BOY  (smiles).     Oh! 

[Climbs  down  the  wall  andy  trembling,  goes  and  stands  in  front 

of  her. 

THE  GIRL  (drops  her  sewing  and  looks  up  at  him).     Oh! 
THE  BOY  (with  deep  tenderness).     Do  you  like  to  sew? 
THE  GIRL  (hardly  audible).     Yes  —  very  much. 

[An  awkward  pause. 
THE  BOY.     I  —  I  told  my  father! 

[A  step  to  her. 
THE  GIRL  (frightened).     Oh  —  what  did  he  say? 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  289 

THE  BOY.     He  was  glad  —  Hes  —  Hesta ! 

THE  GIRL  (sewing  diligently).     I'm  glad  —  David! 

THE  BOY  (goes  to  her  at  end  of  table).     I  think  —  I  think  you  are 

the  nicest  girl  in  Nuremberg. 
THE  GIRL.     I  think  —  you  are  the  nicest  boy. 

THE  BOY  (moves  to  her).     Oh  —  you  do ! 

THE  GIRL.     Ye-es  —  David. 

[He  takes  her  hand.     She  makes  a  movement  to  draw  it  away. 
THE  BOY.     Please  —  don't  —  oh,  please  don't ! 

[Holds  it.     They  remain  so  for  a  moment. 
THE  GIRL.     When  did  you  first  —  first  like  me,  David? 
THE  BOY  (tenderly).     Oh  —  for  years  —  and  years  —  and  years! 
THE  GIRL  (puts  basket  down).     You've  always  liked  me? 
THE  BOY   (very  tenderly).     Always!    Always!    But  it  is  not 

"like"  at  all  —  Hesta  —  it  is  love. 
THE  GIRL  (frightened).     Love! 

[Takes  her  hand  away. 
THE  BOY  (drawing  away).     Oh,  yes  —  it  is  love  —  it  is  love,  — 

it  hurts  me  so! 
THE  GIRL.     Oh,  I  am  frightened!     You  are  saying  something 

very  —  very  serious !     I  am  frightened ! 
THE  BOY.     So  am  I.     It  is  serious  —  Hesta,  it  is ! 
THE  GIRL  (shivering).     Oh,  I  am  frightened,  David! 
THE  BOY.     Let  me  hold  you  close  —  in  my  arms  —  so!     (Takes 

her  gently  in  his  arms)     Please  —  you  cannot  be  frightened 

now!     Are  you?     (The  Girl  says  nothing,  but  quietly  clings  to 

him  and  bursts  into  tears)     Don't  cry  —  please  don't  cry!    I 

wouldn't  have  you  cry!     I  mustn't  have  you  cry.     Oh  no! 

[Shakes  his  head  enquiringly  at  her. 

THE  GIRL  (tearfully).     David  —  I  am  frightened  because  —  be- 
cause —  it  is  so  serious  —  and  solemn  —  and  you  are  so  — 

so  kind! 

THE  BOY.     May  I  kiss  you,  my  Hesta? 
THE  GIRL  (drying  her  eyes  and  holding  up  her  face  tearfully  and 

childishly) .     Please  —  yes ! 

[The  Boy  kisses  her  lightly;  then  she  rises  and  they  stand  away 

from  each  other  and  regard  each  other  in  awe. 


290  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

THE  BOY  (holding  out  his  arms,  with  deep  feeling  in  his  voice). 

Come! 

[She  goes  quietly  to  him  and  puts  her  head  on  his  shoulder. 

They  stand  so  in  silence,  both  very  moved  and  tender.     Then  a 

timid  knock  is  heard  on  the  gate. 
DAVID.     Someone's  knocking. 

THE  GIRL  (standing  away  from  him).     It  is  my  father,  David. 
DAVID  (running  and  looking  through  the  little  grate).     No  —  it  is 

mine! 
THE  GIRL.     Wait  a  minute.     (She  runs  up  above,  around  to 

table,   picks   up   her  work-basket  and   sits)      Show  him   in, 

David. 
THE  BOY.     All  right!     (She  goes  to  her  seat  and  picks  up  her 

sewing  as  the  Boy  unbolts  and  opens  the  gate.     Quietly)     Come 

in,  Father! 

[In  walks  the   Toymaker,  leading  the  dog,  carrying  a  huge 

bouquet  in  his  left  hand  and  his  shoes  in  his  right.     He  is  still 

in  his  carpet  slippers.     Boy  closes  gate,  comes  back. 
TOYMAKER  (smiling  absently  at  his  son) .     Here  I  am  —  David. 
THE  BOY  (nervously  looking  from  his  carpet  slippers  to  his  shoes 

in  his  hand)     Ye-es,  Father! 
TOYMAKER.     Please  —  where  is  she? 

[Girl  watches  over  her  shoulder  and  laughs  through  the  scene. 
THE  BOY  (in  a  whisper).     She  is  here,  Father  —  but  your  feet  — 

Father! 

TOYMAKER  (looking  at  his  feet  —  absently).     My  feet  —  David? 
THE  BOY.     You've  forgot  to  put  on  your  shoes;  you've  got  on 

your  carpet  slippers! 
TOYMAKER  (gazing  at  his  feet).     Oh!     (Holds  up  his  shoes   to 

David)     See!    And  Emma  told  me  I  would!     Please  stand 

in  front  of  me  —  so  —  hide  me  —  here  —  hold    Nebuchad- 
nezzar !     These  flowers  —  so !     (Sits  down  on  the  ground)     I 

change ! 
THE  BOY  (holding  dog  and  bouquet,  and  hiding  his  father  from 

the  girl).     Be  quick,  Father. 
TOYMAKER  (Working  hard.    Simply).    Yes  —  David  —  yes!     I 

am  quick !  —  Hide  me !     There  —  so !     (He  gets  his  shoes  on, 


The  Toy  maker  of  Nuremberg  291 

rises,  puts  slippers  under  chair,  takes  back  his  dog  and  tJie 

bouquet)     Now  —  so  —  take  me  to  her ! 

[Girl  becomes  serious. 
THE  BOY   (leading  his  father  to  her).     Friiulein  Hesta!     (The 

Girl  rises,  putting  aside  her  sewing)     Let  me  present  to  you 

—  my  father  —  Herr  Abraham  Budel !     The  Toymaker ! 

[She  curtsies  low.     He  bows  with  an  old-world  grace. 
TOYMAKER  (fiercely  whispering,  nodding  at  the  dog  he  is  carry- 
ing).    Now  him! 
THE  BOY.     And  Nebuchadnezzar  —  our  dog ! 

[Budel  bows. 
THE  GIRL.     Eh! 
THE  TOYMAKER.     Young  lady  —  please,  these  flowers 

[Holds  them  out  to  her. 
THE  GIRL.     Thank  you  —  Herr  Budel. 

[She  takes  them. 
TOYMAKER.     Your  mother's 

THE  BOY.       Ah 

[Relieved.     An  embarrassed  pause,  as  all  look  on  the  ground. 
THE  GIRL.     Please,  Herr  Budel,  won't  you  sit  down? 

TOYMAKER.       Sit  down? 

THE  GIRL.     My  father  will  be  here  soon ! 

TOYMAKER.     Thank  you !     (Gives  dog  to  Boy,  wJw  exits  with 

him.     Sits  down  beside  the  table,  near  the  lamp  which  lights 

up  the  little  group.     Very  nervous,  and  giving  her  a  shy  look; 

then  smiling  at  her)     Please,  I  am  scared. 

[Watches  Boy  take  dog  off. 
THE  GIRL  (startled).     Oh,  please  —  don't  be! 
TOYMAKER  (smiling) .     You  young  people  have  such  fine  modern 

education!     I   suppose  you   know   a   great   deal!     History! 

Geography!  (smiling)  and  insides  of  pollywoggles  —  yes? 
THE   GIRL    (laughing).      I    ought    to    know  —  but    I    am   so 

stupid. 
TOYMAKER  (shaking  his  head  and  smiling  at  her;    then  holding 

out  his  hand,  tenderly).     Come!     (She  rises,  goes  to  him  and 

kneels   beside  him.     He  shrinks.     David  enters)     And   you, 

David.     (The  Boy  goes  to  him,  on  the  other  side.     A  pause. 


A   Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

He  continues  with  emotion  in  his  voice)  Please  —  I  cannot 
tell  much  —  my  heart  is  so  —  so  full.  (Then  in  a  gentle  and 
grave  whisper}  Fraulein  Hesta  —  is  it  really  true  —  you 
love  my  son? 

THE  GIRL  (holding  up  her  head  —  and  looking  at  him,  tearfully). 
Oh,  yes  —  please ! 

TOYMAKER  (turning  to  his  son).  And  you,  David  —  you  love 
this  girl? 

THE  BOY.     Yes,  Father! 

TOYMAKER  (to  the  Girl).     Are  you  frightened? 

BOTH  (nodding) .     Oh,  yes  —  so  much ! 

TOYMAKER.  So  was  I !  It  is  such  a  mystery  —  so  silent !  No 
one  knows  how  or  where  it  comes. 

THE  GIRL.     Love  is  so  wonderful,  sir! 

TOYMAKER  (nodding  his  head) .  Yes,  love  is  —  but  it  will  not 
go  on  by  itself.  Oh,  my  children,  for  this  reason  so  many 
hearts  have  been  broken.  You  cannot  —  you  must  not 
neglect  love  —  it  is  a  very  fragile  and  delicate  thing.  We 
must  keep  him  shining  bright  and  alive  in  the  home  —  or 
he  will  fly  away  —  oh,  so  easily!  And  smile  much.  Oh,  I 
believe  so,  in  smiling  much  —  keeps  the  doctors  away.  If 
sadness  comes  —  and  Fate  seems  hard  —  and  she  is  often 
so !  —  put  a  smile  on  your  face.  (Smiles)  Inside,  you  may 
feel  more  like  weeping  —  but  never  mind  —  keep  the  smile 
so,  and  gradually  —  before  you  know  —  the  smile  has  grown 
into  your  heart,  and  kindness  comes;  —  then  take  a  deep 
breath  —  presto !  The  sky  is  cleared  and  all  comes  right. 
All  comes  right! 

THE  GIRL  (entranced).     Oh,  go  on  —  go  on! 

TOYMAKER.  You  will  find  what  I  am  saying  is  true  —  when 
you  are  married! 

THE  GIRL  (in  terror).     Married! 
[Boy  back  a  step. 

TOYMAKER.       Yes ! 

THE  GIRL  (rises).     We  never  thought  of  that! 

[The  Boy  stands  back,  and  they  stare  at  one  another  in  dread. 
TOYMAKER    (gently).     Of   course   not!     (Regards   them;  —  then 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  293 

emotion  comes  into  his  voice)     Oh !     (Sighs)     Bless  me  —  I 

felt  that  way  over  forty  years  ago ! 

[Wipes  his  eyes. 
THE  GIRL.     But  marriage  —  why,  it  is  such  a  serious  thing,  — 

sir! 

THE  BOY.     Oh,  yes! 

THE  GIRL.     Do  we  have  to  get  married? 
THE  BOY.     Yes,  Father  —  do  we? 
TOYMAKER  (smiling).     Gott  in  Himmel  —  don't  you  want  to 

be  together  the  rest  of  your  lives? 
BOTH.     Oh,  yes  —  please! 
TOYMAKER.     When  people  really  are  in  love  —  mind  you,  really 

in  love  —  they  are  married ! 
THE  BOY.     Oh! 

THE   GIRL.       Oh! 

TOYMAKER  (slowly).     Fraulein  Hesta,  your  father  is  a  rich  man; 

he  has  given  you  much  comfort  and  care!     Do  you  realize 

that  my  David  here  —  is  a  poor  fellow? 
THE  GIRL.     Yes,  Herr  Budel. 
TOYMAKER.     Do  you  realize,  too,  that  his  father  here  —  is  a 

poor  fellow  too? 
THE  GIRL.     Yes,  Herr  Budel! 
TOYMAKER.     David  will  never  be  a  rich  man;   he  is  too  much 

like  his  father  —  a  spendthrift !     But  he,  too,  will  make  toys 
'  —  beautiful  toys,  and  be  a  great  artist.     But  listen,  your 

lives  will  be  full  of  hard  work  and  hard  pinches. 
THE  GIRL.     Yes,  Herr  Budel! 
TOYMAKER.     No  coaches  —  not  many  parties  or  picnics  —  not 

much  play  or  such  things.     You  don't  care?     It  doesn't 

matter? 
THE   GIRL    (kneeling   again   beside   the    Toymaker,   and   taking 

David's  hand  across  his  knee).     No  —  it  doesn't  matter.     I 

love  him,  sir! 

TOYMAKER  (very  moved).     Are  you  quite  sure,  Fraulein  Hesta? 
THE  GIRL  (simply).     Oh,  yes! 
TOYMAKER  (A  deep  note  coming  into  his  voice  as  he  puts  his  arms 

about  the  two.     The  Boy  kneels,  too).     Please  —  please  come 


294  A   Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

closer.  Now  I  bless  you!  (The  two  lovers  bow  their  heads;  he 
holds  them  close  to  him  and  bows  his  head  over  them,  shutting 
his  eyes.  His  voice  trembling  with  emotion)  Oh,  God  keep 
you  always  children,  and  let  not  your  love  grow  up! 
[Pats  their  heads.  A  pause.  A  knock.  They  all  three  rise 
and  regard  each  other. 

THE  GIRL   (terror-stricken).      I   think  it  is   my  father,   Herr 
Budel. 

TOYMAKER.     Good,  —  we  tell  him ! 

THE  GIRL  (frightened).     Oh! 

[Enter  Lena  in  answer  to  the  knock.  Stares  astonished  at  the 
two  men. 

LENA.     Herr  Budel  —  David  Budel  —  how  did  you  get  here! 

TOYMAKER  (embarrassed).     Please  —  I!     We! 

THE  GIRL.     I  let   them  in  —  Lena.     Herr  Budel  has  come  to 
see  my  father  on  business. 

LENA  (suspiciously).     I  did  not  hear  you  come  in! 

[Knock  again.  Lena  goes  slowly  to  the  door  with  a  backward 
look  of  reproach  and  distrust  at  them.  She  opens  the  gate. 
Enter  Herr  Kronfeldt,  frock-coated,  smiling  and  well  fed;  — 
with  that  contentment  about  him  —  born  of  a  good  dinner  and 
a  good  pipe,  which  he  is  smoking.  It  is  a  long  meerschaum. 
Lena  closes  gate. 

KRONFELDT   (kindly).     Ah,    friend  Budel!     Come   to  tell  me 
you've  changed  your  mind  about  those  Teddy  Bears,  eh?    ' 

TOYMAKER  (bowing  and  smiling).     Please,  sir,  this  is  not  busi- 
ness now  —  it  is  different! 

KRONFELDT     (puzzled).     Different?     (Then    hospitably)     Well, 
sit  down  first!     Lena  —  bring  some  beer!     (Seeing  David) 
Ah,  David! 
[Sits.     The  Girl  sits  on  bench. 

THE  BOY  (bowing  and  smiling).     Herr  Kronfeldt! 

KRONFELDT  (Sitting  contentedly  at  table.    Waves  Budel  to  a  chair). 
Sit  down! 

TOYMAKER  (seating  himself  nervously).     Thank  you,  sir! 

[Enter  Lena  with  two  glasses  of  beer  on  tray.  Hesta  takes  it 
and  serves  it.  The  lovers  remain  standing,  tremblingly  listening. 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  295 

KRONFELDT     (pompously).     Well  —  friend     Budel  —  what     is 

this? 
TOYMAKER.     Sir,  you  know  David  here  —  you  have  known  him 

since  he  was  a  little  fellow,  so  high! 
KRONFELDT.     Yes!     Have  some  beer,  Budel? 
TOYMAKER.     Thank  you! 
KRONFELDT  (raising  his  glass).     Prosit! 
TOYMAKER.     Prosit,  sir! 

[They  drink  in  silence.     Exit  Lena. 

KRONFELDT.       Well ! 

TOYMAKER  (David  bows).     You  —  you  have  always  liked  David 
—  and  been  kind  to  him  on  Christmas  and  such  times. 
[Puts  glass  back. 

KRONFELDT  (Looks  at  David.     Puzzled) .     Yes  —  David  and  I 

„    have  always  been  good  friends,  I  hope. 

THE  BOY.     Yes,  sir! 

TOYMAKER.     Well,  sir,  David  is  a  boy  no  longer. 

KRONFELDT.       So! 

[Looks  below  Toymaker  at  David.     Girl  moves  to  end  of  bench. 
TOYMAKER.     No,  sir,  he  is  a  man! 

KRONFELDT.      Well? 

TOYMAKER  (slowly).     Herr  Kronfeldt  —  Love  has  come  to  my 
son! 

KRONFELDT.      Yes. 

TOYMAKER.     Yes,  sir  —  and  for  Fraulein  Hesta  —  your  daugh- 
ter! 

[Looks  at  Hesta;  she  rises. 
KRONFELDT  (smiling).     Nonsense! 
TOYMAKER.     It  is  true  —  (Kronfeldt  turns  back  to  Budel)     Herr 

Kronfeldt  —  and  his  love  is  returned  by  Fraulein  Hesta. 
KRONFELDT  (stopping  smiling).     Stop  —  this  is  nonsense! 
TOYMAKER  (proudly) .     Look  at  them,  sir! 

[Kronfeldt  regards   them   both  and  then  the    Toymaker  in  a 

grave  kind  of  wonder. 
TOYMAKER  (rises) .     Herr  Kronfeldt  —  you  have  known  me  and 

mine  all  these  years.     I  come  and  honourably  ask  you  to 

allow  my  son  to  marry  your  daughter! 


296          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

THE  BOY  (with  dignity,  stepping  forward).  Herr  Kronfeldt, 
what  my  father  is  saying  —  indeed  is  true,  sir!  I  love  your 
daughter,  sir  —  I  will  work  hard  for  her,  sir,  —  so  hard,  sir ! 

TOYMAKER.     You  see,  sir! 

KRONFELDT  (Smokes  calmly.  All  three  regard  him  with  inten- 
sity. He  speaks  slowly  and  kindly) .  Friend  Budel  —  you 
are  a  child  —  you  have  always  been  a  child  in  the  ways  of 
the  world.  I  cannot  find  it  in  my  heart  to  be  angry  with  you ! 

TOYMAKER.  You  talk  of  anger,  sir,  —  when  two  people  love 
each  other,  sir! 

KRONFELDT  (laughing).     My  dear  children  —  for  you  are  noth- 
ing less,  the  three  of  you  —  this  is  all  foolishness !    David  is 
a  good  fellow,   Budel,   and  I  have  always  liked  him!    I 
wouldn't  mind  him  in  the  least  for  a  son-in-law. 
[Hesta  runs  to  embrace  him;  stops. 

TOYMAKER  (pleased).     Ah! 

KRONFELDT.  But,  my  dear  Budel,  he  has  no  knowledge  of  the 
world  —  and  business;  he  doesn't  even  know  the  value  of 
money ! 

TOYMAKER.  Money?  I  was  afraid  of  this,  sir.  Please  —  let 
us  have  no  money  here.  This  is  sacred,  sir! 

KRONFELDT    (Rising   and    kindly.     Moves   to    house).     Budel! 
Budel!     You  will  always  be  a  fool!     (Patting  his  shoulder) 
But  a  good  old  fool! 
[Turns  to  go  into  the  house. 

TOYMAKER  (in  agony).  But  —  Herr  Kronfeldt  —  when  do  we 
get  married? 

KRONFELDT  (turning  sharply,  his  eye  blazing).  Married!  (At 
steps.  A  pause).  No,  I  will  not  lose  my  temper!  Budel  — 
I  don't  wish  to  hurt  you  nor  your  son!  But  all  this  talk  of 
love  and  marriage  is  nonsense  If  you  had  any  money  on 
your  side  of  the  contract,  I  might  listen  to  you;  but  believe 
me,  my  friend,  I  know  more  of  the  world  and  it's  ways  than 
you  do,  and  I  will  not  have  my  daughter  marry  a  man 
who  only  paints  eyelashes  on  dolls! 

TOYMAKER.     But  you  don't  understand;  —  love  is  here,  sir! 
[Points  to  the  lovers. 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  297 

KRONFELDT  (on  steps).  Do  you  think  I  want  my  daughter  to 
marry  into  poverty,  and  slave  all  the  rest  of  her  life?  I 
can't  see  how  you  have  never  learned  some  sense,  Budel. 
God  knows  you've  had  a  hard  enough  time  of  it,  making 
both  ends  meet;  and  yet,  here  you  are,  cheerfully  asking 
me  to  let  my  daughter  enter  into  a  life  like  yours.  Do  you 
want  these  two  to  suffer  and  grind  as  much  as  you  and 
Frau  Budel  have? 

TOYMAKER.  Suffered  —  I  suffer!  My  life  has  been  a  beautiful 
one,  sir! 

KRONFELDT.  Budel,  I  don't  want  to  hurt;  I'd  be  the  last 
man  to  want  to  hurt  you  —  as  I  like  and  trust  you !  But 
can't  you  see  you  come  to  me  with  an  idea  I  cannot  grasp? 
Listen,  I  refuse  to  give  my  daughter  to  your  son  —  unless 
he  can  come  to  me  with  at  least  5000  marks  to  start  life  with ! 

TOYMAKER.  Money  —  money  —  all  money-talk!  Sir,  it  is 
blinding  your  eyes.  God  has  blessed  us  here,  and  you  talk 
of  money.  I  plead,  sir,  for  these  two  young  people! 

KRONFELDT.     No!     No!     Our  points  of  view  are  different. 

TOYMAKER.     They  can  never  be  poor  with  what  they  have! 

KRONFELDT  (going  towards  the  house,  laughing) .  All  right !  All 
right !  Have  it  your  own  way,  then  —  have  It  your  own 
way!  But  I  must  refuse  the  honour.  However,  I'll  show 
you  I  have  no  ill-feeling  towards  you,  and  that  I  trust  my 
Hesta  —  your  son  —  and  yourself.  I'll  leave  you  here  alone 
together  to  say  farewell !  (Steps  to  door)  Good-night ! 

TOYMAKER  (Pleadingly.     Crosses  to  steps).     Sir  —  oh,  sir! 

KRONFELDT.     Good-night ! 

[Goes  into  the  house,  shutting  the  door.  A  long  pause  as  Budel, 
back  to  audience,  stares  at  the  closed  door.  He  then  turns 
slowly  and  regards  the  two  frightened  lovers.  He  beckons  them 
both  with  either  hand;  they  come  slowly  to  him,  on  either  side. 
Then  all  three  stand  in  front  of  table.  He  pats  their  hands 
tremblingly. 

TOYMAKER  (taking  a  deep  breath).  Per  —  perhaps  we  smile,  eh? 
(They  all  try  to,  but  fail.  A  pause}  It's  difficult  sometimes 
—  but  try  hard  —  all  will  come  right! 


298  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

THE  BOY.  Father,  Herr  Kronfeldt  is  right!  I  am  too  poor 
to  marry  Hesta!  I  must  go  out  into  the  world  and  make 
my  fortune!  I'll  go,  as  my  brother,  Adolf,  did  to  America! 

TOYMAKER  (tragically,  in  a  low  voice}.  Oh,  no!  Oh,  no!  Not 
that,  David,  not  that! 

THE  GIRL.  Oh,  please,  must  one  always  have  money  to  marry 
with? 

TOYMAKER.     Of  course  not. 

THE  GIRL.     What  shall  we  do? 

THE  BOY.  I  tell  you,  Father  —  Herr  Kronfeldt  is  right.  I'll 
go  to  America  to-morrow  —  make  a  fortune  and  come  back 
to  you,  Hesta. 

THE  GIRL  (wistfully).  Can't  you  make  a  fortune  here  in  Nu- 
remberg? 

TOYMAKER.     No  —  not  so  sudden ! 

THE  GIRL  (weeping).     It  does  seem  so  cruel! 

THE  BOY.     Yes,  Father,  it  is  cruel  —  isn't  it? 

TOYMAKER.     I  tell  you  —  we  smile  —  eh? 
[Beckons  them  both  to  him. 

THE  BOY.     What  are  we  to  do  now,  Father? 

THE  GIRL.  Yes  —  Herr  Budel  —  what  are  we  to  do?  But 
please,  don't  let  your  son  go  to  America,  sir. 

THE  BOY.     But  I  must,  Hesta;  there  is  no  way  else  to  win  you! 

TOYMAKER.     Come  —  we  —  think. 

[The  three  all  sit  on  the  bench,  side  by  side  and  close  together, 
and  think  hard.  Some  students  are  heard  singing  softly  in  the 
distance.  Birds  twitter  overhead,  and  a  bell  rings  the  hour. 
Then  a  rattle  and  a  bang  of  horses'  hoofs  are  heard  outside  the 
gate.  The  three  rise  and  listen  in  terror,  clutching  hold  of 
each  other.  The  noise  becomes  fearful  —  clattering  of  hoofs, 
jingling  of  harness,  and  rumble  of  wheels.  The  Boy  runs  and 
opens  gate.  In  bursts  Paul,  the  old  Sergeant,  the  old  Poet, 
and  a  coachman,  all  panting  and  talking  at  once. 

PAUL  (mad  with  suppressed  excitement).     David!    David! 

SERGEANT.  Halt!  I  am  general  here!  (He  hobbles  up  to 
Budel  and  salutes)  Is  this  coast  clear? 

TOYMAKER  (dazed).     Coast?     What  is  this,  Strumpf? 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  299 

SERGEANT  (cross  with  excitement).    Answer  me  —  is  Kronfeldt 

in  the  house? 

TOYMAKER.     Yes  —  but ! 

SERGEANT  (hobbles  up  to  the  lovers,  panting).     Here,  you  two 

people.    You  are  in  love !     (An  embarrassed  pause)     Answer ! 
THE  BOY.    Yes,  sir. 
SERGEANT.    And  the  old  fool  in  there  (points  to  house)  has 

refused  his  consent? 
THE  BOY.     Unless  I  have  money! 
SERGEANT.     Well,  you  haven't  any,  have  you? 
THE  BOY.    Alas  —  no,  sir! 

TOYMAKER.     But  —  Sergeant 

SERGEANT  (crossly).     Shut  up,  Abraham!    Listen,  you  two  — 

(Lena  at  window  with  candle)  —  do  you  really  want  to  get 

married? 

BOTH.     Yes,  please! 
SERGEANT    (weeping   in   his   excitement).     Good!     Well   then! 

We  have  a  coach  and  a  horse  here !  —  and  get  inside 

BOY  AND   GIRL.      Coach! 

SERGEANT.     God  bless  you! 

ALL.     What! 

SERGEANT.     We'll  all  get  in  —  drive  to  St.  Martins  —  marry 

you  —  and  send  you  off  to  a  quiet  place  I  know  of. 
THE  BOY  (joy  coming  into  his  voice).     You  mean  for  us  to  elope, 

sir  —  run  away? 
SERGEANT  (quite  overcome  with  emotion  and  excitement).     Yes, 

sir  —  elope,  sir  —  the  coach  is  paid  for  —  and  here  is  enough 

money  to  last  you  till  Kronfelcft's  anger  cools  down !     God  — 

God  bless  you,  my  boy  and  girl! 

[Goes  up  stage;  so  does  Paul. 
POET  (Weeping  outright.     Goes  up) .     God  bless  you ! 

[Lena  gives  gasps  all  through  this  conversation;    now  listens, 

breathing  hard  with  rage. 

THE  BOY.     Oh,  sir  —  Hesta  —  this  is  wonderful  —  will  you? 
THE  GIRL.     Oh  —  my  father  —  I  couldn't! 
SERGEANT  (sharply).     Do  you  love  him? 

[Bangs  David  in  the  chest. 


300  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

THE  GIRL.     Oh,  yes,  sir! 

SERGEANT.     Do  you  want  to  marry  him? 

THE  GIRL.     Yes,  please  —  but  my  father! 

SERGEANT.     Father  be  damned ! 

THE  GIRL.     Oh! 

[Shocked. 

SERGEANT.    You're  not  going  to  marry  your  father  —  are  you? 
THE  GIRL.    No,  sir! 
SERGEANT.     Come,  let  us  go  before  we  are  discovered! 

[Poet,  Paul,  and  Coachman  up.     Sergeant,  Boy,  and  Girl  start 

up,  round  the  table.    Lena  gives  a  cry,  shuts  the  window  and 

is  heard  running  downstairs,  within  the  house. 

TOYMAKER.      Stop ! ! 

[All  stop,  astonished,  and  stare  at  him. 

SERGEANT  (fiercely,  his  blood  roused).     What  the  devil ! 

TOYMAKER.  I  forbid  this!  He  has  trusted  us  here  together; 
he  has  trusted  his  daughter  to  my  keeping.  I  forbid  this! 
[He  goes  up  on  a  line  with  Sergeant. 

SERGEANT.  Now  this  has  got  nothing  to  do  with  you,  Abra- 
ham! This  is  my  affair! 

TOYMAKER.  No,  it  can't  be!  It  is  not  honourable  to  Kron- 
feldt. 

SERGEANT  (dismayed).  But  I  thought  you  would  like  this  — 
Budel  —  it's  so  —  so  romantic! 

POET  (from  his  place).     It's  a  fine  coach. 

COACHMAN  (from  his  place,  gruffly) .  Yes,  sir  —  and  it's  been 
used  for  eloping  couples  these  twenty  years ! 

SERGEANT.     Won't  you  change  your  mind,  Abraham? 

TOYMAKER.     No  —  it  is  wrong! 

[Screams  are  heard  within  the  house,  and  Kronfeldt's  roaring 
voice;  —  then  the  door  bursts  open.  In  rushes  Lena  and 
Kronfeldt,  both  panting,  roaring  and  infuriated.  Sergeant  re- 
tires behind  table  and  joins  Poet,  who  comes  down.  David  and 
Girl  cross  to  back  of  couch. 

LENA.     Here  they  are,  sir  —  see  the  coach  —  and  all ! 

KRONFELDT  (halting  abruptly  with  a  roar,  on  steps,  Lena  beside 
him).  So!  (Exeunt  Paul  and  Coachman.  To  his  daughter) 


The  Toy  maker  of  Nuremberg  301 

Come  here!  (Lena  exits.  She  goes  to  him)  So  that  is  how  you 
are  to  be  trusted,  Herr  Abraham  Budel!  You  come  into  my 
house,  like  a  snake,  and  rob  me,  like  a  thief,  of  my  daughter. 

ALL  (except  Budel).     Sir,  —  it  was  our  fault  —  not  his. 

KRONFELDT  (roaring).     Silence! 

THE  GIRL.     It  was  not  his  fault,  Father! 

KRONFELDT  (roaring).     Silence! 
[Clutches  her  wrist  tighter! 

THE  GIRL.     Oh,  Father,  you  hurt  me! 
[The  Boy  runs  to  her. 

KRONFELDT.  Stand  off —  (The  Boy  retires)  I'll  have  you 
all  arrested.  No,  I  won't!  I  know  what  I'll  do!  Herr 
Budel,  I  trusted  you  —  now  —  now  —  I  see  you  are  a  vil- 
lain !  Now  I  understand  your  motives  —  because  I  was 
going  to  cut  your  wages  for  not  making  Teddy  Bears  — 
you  try  to  have  your  son  to  marry  into  my  family  for  my 
money,  eh?  —  to  save  yourself!  Ah!  and  you  acted  so  inno- 
cent all  the  time  —  and  I  believed  you.  You  double-face! 
You  liar!  You  sneak-thief!  You  child-robber!  I  don't 
want  your  dolls  and  toys  any  more!  Get  out  of  my  place! 
(Back  on  steps)  I  can  get  plenty  of  people  to  make  Teddy 
Bears  for  me;  you  are  not  the  only  one!  Go!  !  I  dis- 
charge you  from  my  employ.  Get  out  of  my  place!  (All 
gasp.  To  his  daughter)  Come,  you!  I  have  something  to 
say  to  you  —  my  lady  —  inside ! 

[Drags  her  roughly  into  the  house,  and  slams  the  door  to  with 
a  bang.  The  little  Toymaker  has  been  standing  with  his  back  to 
audience,  and  staring  up  at  Kronfeldt  —  enquiringly.  A  long 
silence.  Slowly  turns  front  with  an  ashy  face.  The  Sergeant 
and  Poet  come,  with  bowed  heads,  on  either  side  of  him. 

SERGEANT  (brokenly).     It  was  all  our  fault! 

POET  (weeping  openly).     Please  —  oh,  friend! 

TOYMAKER  (Stares  at  both  of  them,  his  lips  trying  to  work.  He 
takes  their  two  hands  and  helplessly  pats  them.  He  speaks 
with  trembling  lips,  trying  to  smile)  Co  —  come  —  per  —  per- 
haps —  we  —  we  —  smile ! 

END   OF   ACT   II 


302  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 


ACT  III 

At  the  Toymaker's  again.  Ten  days  later.  The  act  begins  with 
late  afternoon. 

The  curtain  rises  on  Frau  Budel,  on  her  knees,  packing  a  huge 
trunk  —  a  gaudy  affair.  She  packs  for  a  while  and  then  bursts 
into  tears,  and  covers  her  face  with  the  Toymaker's  coat  which  she 
is  packing.  A  knock  is  heard. 

FRAU  BUDEL  (wiping  her  eyes  on  the  coat  and  continuing  her 
packing).  Co  —  come  in!  (Enter  a  young  Clerk,  with  fat 
cheeks  and  spectacles;  he  keeps  hat  on)  Who  are  you? 

THE  CLERK  (opening  a  large  book).   I'm  from  the  auctioneers, 
Frau  Budel.    I've  come  to  make  the  inventory! 
[Looks  about  the  room. 

FRAU  BUDEL  (rising).  Oh,  please  wait,  sir  —  come  back  in  an 
hour's  time! 

THE  CLERK  (looking  at  his  watch,  and  at  the  great  clock  without). 
But  the  appointment  was  for  five  o'clock,  Madam ! 

FRAU  BUDEL.  I  know  —  but  —  my  husband  —  you  know  he 
leaves  —  he  leaves  here  to-day  forever  —  he  goes  to  Amer- 
ica! He  —  he  wants  to  see  this  room  as  it  has  always  been 
—  to  say  good-bye  to  it  —  so !  Instead  of  leaving  it  when  it 
is  all  bare ! 

THE  CLERK  (bowing  a  great  deal,  —  kindly).  Oh,  certainly, 
Madam  —  we  will  return  later  —  in  an  hour's  time!  Par- 
don—  I  understand  you  do  not  go  with  your  husband  — 
Frau  Budel  —  and  that  the  proceeds  of  the  auction  are  to 
go  to  you? 

FRAU  BUDEL  (tearfully) .  Yes  —  my  husband  and  my  son  — 
are  going  to  America  for  a  little  while  —  to  make  a  fortune! 

THE  CLERK.   In  what  business,  may  I  ask  —  Frau  Budel? 

FRAU  BUDEL.  They  don't  quite  know,  but  we  read  in  a  paper 
that  a  great  deal  of  money  can  be  made  in  the  West  of 
America,  with  cattle  raising ! 

THE  CLERK.    Yes? 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  303 

FRAU  BUDEL.  Yes!  This  man  in  the  paper  says,  if  you  send 
him  five  marks  in  postage  stamps,  he  will  show  you  how  to 
make  a  fortune  in  a  year! 

THE  CLERK.  America  is  a  wonderful  place!  (Bowing)  We  will 
return  later,  Frau  Budel ! 

FRAU  BUDEL.   Thank  you ! 

[Exeunt  Clerk  and  Assistant.    A  pause  as  she  goes  on  packing. 
Enter  the  Boy,  gay  and  excited. 

THE  BOY.   Hurry,  Mother,  hurry,  or  we'll  never  be  in  time! 

FRAU  BUDEL  (tearfully).   Yes  —  I'm  hurrying  —  David! 

THE  BOY.  Don't  cry,  Mother  —  please!  Come,  let  me  help 
you  pack  —  so ! 

[Picks  up  a  great  bunch  of  clothes  and  throws  them  into  the 
trunk. 

FRAU  BUDEL.   Oh  —  stop!    No!    That  is  not  packing  —  that 
is  stuffing !    Here  —  this  is  the  way  —  so ! 
[Packs  carefully  again.     The  Boy  watches  her  pack  for  some 
moments,  then  reaches  out  and  catches  her  hand. 

THE  BOY.  Oh,  Mother,  dear  (she  rises,  with  waistcoat  in  her 
hand),  you  will  be  kind  and  watch  over  her  when  we  are 
away? 

FRAU  BUDEL.  Oh,  yes  —  my  boy  —  my  David  —  we  will  pray 
much  together  for  you!  I  don't  know  what  your  father  will 
do  —  he  has  never  been  one  whole  day  away  from  me,  since 
we  have  been  married  —  he  is  quite  helpless,  without  me ! 

THE  BOY  (cheerfully).   Never  fear,  I'll  look  after  him,  Mother! 

FRAU  BUDEL.  Yes  —  but  he  is  so  absent-minded,  and  the  out- 
side world  always  makes  him  nervous  and  afraid !  You  know 
how  he  always  lives  in  this  room  —  it  is  his  world !  Outside, 
it  is  so  big  and  noisy  and  cruel !  Dear  me,  you  both  are  such 
children !  —  such  babies ! 

THE  BOY.  But  I  am  a  man  now,  Mother!  We'll  make  a  for- 
tune in  six  months  —  perhaps  three.  And  the  first  thing  I 
do  with  my  money  is  to  buy  you  a  black  silk  dress,  my 
Mother.  [Embrace. 

FRAU  BUDEL  (clings  to  him).  My  boy  —  my  boy!  —  Adolph 
left  me;  it  seems  hard  that  you  must  be  taken  from  me,  too! 


304          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

TOYMAKER  (voice  from  room) .   Emma! 
FRAU  BUDEL  (drying  her  eyes).   Yes,  Abraham! 
TOYMAKER  (voice) .   Come,  Emma,  let  us  have  a  last  look  to- 
gether, and  see  if  we've  forgotten  anything! 
FRAU  BUDEL.    I'm  coming!    (Going  to  the  door,  weeping)    David 

—  it  will  kill  him !    He  —  he  never  rode  a  horse  in  his  life ! 
THE  BOY.   Never  fear,  Mother,  I  won't  let  him  ride  —  I'll  do 

it  all  myself! 
FRAU  BUDEL.   Oh,  I  hope  it's  true  that  you  can  make  a  fortune 

in  a  year! 
THE  BOY.   The  man  in  the  paper  says  so!    Everyone  says  so! 

Look  at  Herr  Erkhardt — and  lots  of  people  who  have  done  it! 
FRAU  BUDEL.   But  cattle  are  so  dangerous,  David! 
THE  BOY.   Well — perhaps  it  won't  be  cattle!    We'll  find  my 

brother  Adolph,  first,  —  he'll  know  what  is  best! 
FRAU  BUDEL  (going  out).   Oh,  it  is  hard  —  it  is  hard! 

[Exit  Frau  Budel.     The  Boy  is  left  alone  a  moment;  he  closes 

trunk,  and  moves  up  stage.    A  knock  is  heard  and  Paul  bursts 

in. 

PAUL  (in  a  wild  whisper).   David!    David!    [On  steps. 
THE  BOY.   What  is  it,  Paul? 
PAUL  (breathlessly).   Are  you  alone? 
THE  BOY.   Yes. 
PAUL  (coming  in  a  little).   I  have  brought  someone  to  see  you 

—  no  one  knows ! 
THE  BOY.   What! 

PAUL  (delightedly,  opens  door) .   Fraulein  Hesta ! 

THE  BOY.   Hesta!    (Crosses  to  Paul)    Oh,  where  is  she?    Where 

is  she? 
PAUL  (running  to  the  door  and  flinging  it  wide  open).  Here! 

(Enter  the  Girl  on  a  run,  and  flies  into  the  Boy's  arms)     I'll 

keep  watch  on  the  stairs  —  you  mustn't  be  long  —  Herr 

Kronfeldt  gets  back  at  six! 

[Exit,  closing  door. 

THE  BOY  (brokenly).   Oh,  my  Hesta!  —  oh,  my  Hesta! 
THE  GIRL.   David  —  oh,  David!    I  told  my  father  it  was  not 

your  father's  fault  —  the  elopement  —  but  he  wouldn't  listen; 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  305 

he  said  your  father  has  deceived  everyone  and  shaken  his 

faith  in  mankind! 
THE  BOY.   Yes  —  Herr  Kronfeldt  returned  my  father's  letter 

unopened,  and  refused  to  see  either   Sergeant  Strumpf  or 

Stauffenbach.    Never  mind,  it  was  all  for  the  best. 
THE  GIRL.   Oh,  I  can't  let  you  go,  David!    It  was  all  my  fault! 

I  can't  bear  it  that  it  is  my  father  who  should  be  the  one 

to  do  this  cruel  thing! 
THE  BOY.  Hesta  —  your  father  was  right!    He  has  made  a  man 

of  me!    He  is  right!    I  will  become  a  strong,  strong  man, 

and  do  big  things  now.    No  more  am  I  a  boy  —  no  longer 

do  I  paint  eyelashes  on  dolls!    I  am  a  man  now! 

[Lets  go  of  her. 
THE  GIRL.   Oh,  I  don't  want  you  to  be  a  man,  David,  —  I  want 

you  to  be  —  (turns  to  him)  in  Nuremberg ! 
THE  BOY  (tenderly).   Hesta  —  my  Hesta  —  promise  you  won't 

forget  me 

THE  GIRL.    David 

THE  BOY.   I  love  you 

THE  GIRL.   I  love  you! 

THE  BOY  (taking  out  divers  pieces  of  the  flute,  and  putting  them 

together).   See  —  my  old  flute!    I  am  going  to  give  it  to  you 

to  keep  till  I  come  back! 
THE  GIRL.   Oh,  no  —  you  must  take  it  with  you  —  to  keep 

your  heart  gay ! 
THE  BOY  (sadly).   No,  it  must  be  silent  now.     It  has  always 

been  used  to  wake  the  love  in  your  heart!    I  could  not  play 

it  to  strangers  now!     Oh,  no!     Keep  it,  my  Hesta  —  and 

when  you  see  it  —  you  will  remember  —  my  heart  was  on 

my  lips  when  I  played ! 

[Gives  it  to  her. 
THE  GIRL  (holding  up  a  little  book).   I  brought  this  —  this  book 

—  for  you,  —  David ! 
THE  BOY.   A  prayer-book! 
THE  GIRL.   Yes,  and  inside  —  see  —  a  rose  is  pressed!  —    I've 

so  often  thrown  one  of  those  to  you  —  my  David ! 

[They  embrace,  with  emotion.    Chimes  strike  once,  5.30  P.  M. 


306  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

THE  BOY.   Half -past  five  —  you  must  go ! 
[Enter  Paul. 

PAUL.   Time's  up  —  Fraulein  Hesta! 

THE  GIRL  (holding  David  in  her  arms) .  Ah  no !  —  (Embrace) 
Good-bye!  Good-bye! 

THE  BOY  (holding  her  close  to  him).  I  love  you!  Look  up! 
Look  up!  The  sun  is  shining  in  my  heart!  I'm  a  man  now! 
I'm  going  to  win  you  —  my  Hesta ! 

THE  GIRL.    Good-bye!    Good-bye! 

THE  BOY  (brokenly).    Good-bye!    Good-bye! 

THE  GIRL  (taking  the  flute  in  both  her  hands,  and  holding  her  head 
far  back  to  keep  back  the  tears}.   No  —  you  must  nofsee  me 
last  —  crying.    I  will  be  smiling?  —  so! 
[Tries  to  smile,  and  then,  with  a  moaning  cry,  turns  and  runs 
out,  sobbing. 

THE  BOY.   Hesta! 
[Rushes  after  her. 

PAUL  (standing  in  front  of  the  Boy).  Stop!  Don't  make  it 
harder  for  her,  David! 

THE  BOY  (gasping).  All  right  —  quick  —  go!  Take  her  home! 
[Exit  Paul.  The  Boy  walks  up  to  table,  struggling  with  his 
emotion,  which  he  masters  with  difficulty.  He  ends  up,  sitting 
at  his  father's  little  work-table,  and  holding  his  head  in  his 
hands;  he  sways  from  side  to  side.  Enter  the  Toymaker,  carry- 
ing the  dog  in  both  arms.  He  regards  his  son  in  his  attitude  of 
despair. 

TOYMAKER  (worried).   David  —  what  is  this? 

THE  BOY  (rising,  and  looking  at  door).  I  have  just  said  good- 
bye to  my  love  lady! 

TOYMAKER  (amazed) .   She  was  here 

THE  BOY.   Yes,  sir  —  she's  just  gone ! 

TOYMAKER.  It  was  good  of  her  to  come!  (Going  over  to  the  Boy) 
My  David  —  (looks  up  into  the  Boy's  face)  we'll  win  her,  eh? 

THE  BOY  (holds  on  to  his  father).   Oh,  yes,  sir  —  bless  you,  sir! 

TOYMAKER.   We'll  make  a  fortune  —  eh,  David? 

THE  BOY  (begins  to  smile).   Oh,  yes,  Father! 

TOYMAKER  (wistfully).   You  think  so? 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  307 

THE  BOY  (enthusiastically) .   Of  course  —  Father ! 

TOYMAKER.   And  Nebuchadnezzar  ?     (Holds  up  the  dog)     We 

take  him? 
THE  BOY.   Oh,  yes  —  Father  —  we'll  take  the  dog!     He  can 

help  us  with  the  cattle  —  and  keep  the  burglars  off! 

TOYMAKER  (shyly).   Burglars ! 

THE  BOY.   Yes,  Father! 

TOYMAKER  (looking  at  the  dog) .   He  is  not  much  acquainted  with 

burglars,  David! 
THE  BOY.   Oh,   Father,   won't  it  be  wonderful  to  go  out  into 

the  world  —  so  great  and  big  —  and  fight  our  way  through! 
TOYMAKER  (nodding  timidly).   Yes  —  David! 
THE  BOY.   We'll  show  them  —  we'll  show  them,  —  eh,  Father? 
TOYMAKER  (not  understanding,  but  agreeing) .   Yes  —  David ! 
THE  BOY.   Paint  eyelashes  on  dolls  —  pah !  —  that's  child  work 

to  what  I'm  going  to  do  now  —  to  the  life  we're  going  to 

lead  —  to  the  men  we're  going  to  become!    No  more  toys 

now,  Father  —  we  are  going  to  do  bigger  things! 
TOYMAKER.   Yes,  David! 
THE  BOY  (excitedly,  coming  back).   Oh,  it's  glorious,  Father, 

glorious  —  what  love  can  do  for  a  man !    I  feel  I  could  move 

the  world  —  lift  this  house ! 

TOYMAKER  (timidly).    Please • 

THE  BOY  (pausing) .   Yes,  Father 

TOYMAKER.   You'll  let  me  make  a  doll  now  and  then! 

THE  BOY.   Of  course,  Father  —  if   you  want  to  —  but  you'll 

never  want  to  again • 

TOYMAKER.   You  think  so? 

THE  BOY.   Of  course,  Father;  toys  are  children's  things.    We'll 

be  men,  Father  —  big  men! 

TOYMAKER.    Oh! 

[Enter  Frau  Budel.    She  halts  and  regards  them.    They  look  at 
her  anxiously. 

FRAU  BUDEL  (in  a  hard,  dry  voice) .   No  —  don't  be  afraid  — 
I'm  not  going  to  cry.    Is  —  is  everything  ready? 
[Boy  takes  dog,  goes  behind  Emma,  and  puts  him  off.    Comes 
back  and  sits  on  arm  of  chair. 


308          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

TOYMAKER.   Yes  —  Emma.     Except  our  personal  luggage  — 

up-stairs ! 

FRAU  BUDEL.    Personal  luggage? 
TOYMAKER.      Yes  —  some    things  —  some    private    things  — • 

Emma.      (An  embarrassed  pause,    as  all  three  look  on  the 

ground)    Emma  —  Strumpf  and  Stauffenbach  will  look  after 

you  when  —  when  I  am  gone ! 

FRAU  BUDEL  (trying  to  hold  back  her  tears).   Ye  —  es! 
TOYMAKER.    I  have  left  for  you  the  little  money  I  have  saved, 

and  with  the  auction  of  these  —  (looks  yearningly  around  the 

room)  these  things  —  you  will  be  all  right  for  a  year  —  when 

we  come  back  —  rich ! 

FRAU  BUDEL.    Yes! 

TOYMAKER.  You  will  —  take  care  of  yourself  —  Emma? 

FRAU  BUDEL.   Ye  —  es ! 

TOYMAKER.  You  —  you  won't  be  lonesome? 

FRAU  BUDEL  (weakly).   Oh,  no! 

TOYMAKER  (going  up  to  his  wife,  taking  her  hands  in  his  and 
holding  them,  —  his  lips  trembling) .   Emma ! 

FRAU  BUDEL  (trembling  —  on  the  verge  of  tears  —  clinging  to  his 
hands) .   My  boy  —  my  boy ! 
[They  cling  to  each  other,  and  look  into  each  other9 s  eyes. 

TOYMAKER.   It  is  —  for  the  best  —  Emma! 
[They  both  nod  to  each  other. 

THE  BOY.   Stop  that  —  Father  —  Mother  —  you  mustn't! 

TOYMAKER.   Emma ! 

FRAU  BUDEL.   Abraham! 

[Voices  without.  A  military  knock  is  hea:'d  on  the  door.  The  two 
old  people  still  cling  to  each  other,  looking  into  each  others  eyes. 
The  Boy  opens  the  door,  and  in  walks  the  old  Sergeant  and  the  Poet. 

SERGEANT.   Abraham! 

TOYMAKER  (still  clinging  to  his  wife's  hands).   Old  friends! 

SERGEANT  (excitedly).   There's  a  big  crowd  waiting  at  the  sta- 
tion for  you  —  to  say  good-bye! 

TOYMAKER  (in  terror).   Good-bye? 

POET.   Yes,   Abraham,    it's   a   big   crowd  —  mostly   children! 
Why,  I  never  thought  you  knew  so  many  children! 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  309 

TOYMAKER  (with  trembling  voice,  clinging  closer  to  his  wife). 
Emma  —  I  am  scared! 

FRAU  BUDEL.   Oh,  my  boy! 

TOYMAKER  (choking) .  I  could  not  leave  you,  Emma.  Oh  no  — 
I  cannot  leave  you  —  you  are  helpless  without  me!  She  is 
helpless  without  me! 

FRAU  BUDEL.   No,  Abraham,  I  am  brave  —  see! 

[Tries  to  hold  her  head  up  and  cannot.     They  cling  to  each 
other. 

THE  BOY  (comes  behind  them,  and  then  between  them).  Father  — 
Mother  —  you  mustn't ! 

TOYMAKER.  But  she  is  such  a  child  —  I  have  never  left  her  a 
day  —  she  is  helpless!  She  is  such  a  child! 

FRAU  BUDEL.   Be  brave  —  Abraham 

THE  BOY.   Yes,  Father  —  it's  nearly  time  to  go! 

TOYMAKER  (trying  to  command  himself).  Please  —  I  am  scared! 
It  is  hard  to  be  brave !  I  would  make  a  bad  soldier  —  eh  — 
Strumpf ?  (The  Sergeant  shakes  his  head)  Come  here  —  you 
two  bad  fellows!  (His  two  old  friends  come  up  to  him.  The 
Toymaker  reaches  in  his  coat,  and  brings  out  an  old  watch  and 
a  bunch  of  medals)  Here,  Stauff enbach,  —  here  is  the  Schiller 
watch  —  and  you,  Strumpf  —  your  medals  —  I  pin  them  on, 
so!  (The  Sergeant  stands  and  salutes,  as  the  Toymaker  pins 
the  medals  on)  You  have  doubly  won  these  honours  —  Ser- 
geant Strumpf!  What  you  did  for  your  old  friend  last  week 
—  was  the  bravest  and  noblest  deed  of  your  life!  Bless  you! 

SERGEANT  (brokenly).  We  can't  let  you  go  to  America  alone; 
we  must  come  with  you ! 

POET.   Yes  —  please  let  us  come  too! 

TOYMAKER.  No  —  please  —  you  stay  and  care  for  my  Emma 
here!  David  and  I  will  go  out  into  the  world  —  alone! 

THE  BOY.   Yes,  Father! 

SERGEANT.  Well  —  if  I  can't  go  —  I  want  you  to  take  this  to 
defend  yourself  against  dangers.  (Draws  out  from  his  coat 
tails  an  enormous  campaign  revolver)  Here  is  my  campaign 
revolver !  Take  it  —  you  will  need  it  in  America.  [Forces  it 
on  him. 


310          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

TOYMAKER  (taking  it  gingerly  in  both  hands) .   Thank  you  — 

Strumpf ! 

SERGEANT.   Take  care  —  it  is  loaded ! 
TOYMAKER  (laying  it  at  once  carefully  with  both  hands  on  the 

floor).   Thank  you,  Strumpf  —  that  was  thoughtful  of  you! 

Please  unfix  it! 

SERGEANT.     Unfix  it? 

TOYMAKER.   Yes  —  take  out  the  loads! 

SERGEANT.   Oh !    (Picks  up  the  pistol  and  goes  to  table  with  Poet) 

There! 
TOYMAKER  (smiling).  Thank  you! 

[Knock  at  door.    Clerk  enters.    Sergeant  sits  on  bench,  Poet  at 

table,  Frau  Budel  on  trunk. 

CLERK  (out  of  breath).  Beg  pardon  —  Herr  Budel 

TOYMAKER.   Yes !    Yes ! 

CLERK.   I  have  bought  your  tickets,  Herr  Budel 

TOYMAKER.   Yes !    Yes ! 
CLERK.   But  the  dog! 

[The  Boy  runs  off  and  gets  dog. 
TOYMAKER.   The  dog  —  well  —  sir ! 
CLERK.   When  I  brought  your  tickets  you  did  not  say  anything 

about  taking  the  dog. 
TOYMAKER.   Well,  sir? 
CLERK.   It  costs  quite  a  lot  to  take  a  dog  to  America. 

TOYMAKER.     How  much? 

CLERK.   About  one  hundred  marks! 

TOYMAKER.  One  hundred  marks  —  No  —  please  —  I  can't  — 
no  —  are  you  sure? 

CLERK.   Oh,  yes ! 

TOYMAKER.  But  Nebuchadnezzar  here  —  Purely  it  would  be 
different  for  him? 

CLERK.  No  —  Herr  Budel  —  he  is  a  dog  and  has  to  pay  the 
dog  rate. 

TOYMAKER.  Please,  you  are  sure,  sir?  Well,  you  take  him, 
eh?  —  You  take  him  to  Fraulein  Hesta  Kronfeldt  —  to 
keep  till  we  come  back?  (Taking  Clerk  aside)  Please  don't 
tell  the  dog  we  are  gone  till  to-morrow  —  eh? 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  311 

CLERK.   No,  sir! 

TOYMAKER.   Now  take  him  away (Exit  Clerk)   1*11  not 

look.     Is  he  gone?     I  go  —  now  —  up-stairs (Poet  gives 

him    the    pistol)       Strumpf  —  Stauffenbach  —  help    me  — 

(They  cross  to  door)     I'll  get  my  personal  luggage  —  we  go. 

Come,  David! 

[The  three  go  out,  leaving  the  Toymaker  alone  with  his  wife. 

He  stands  staring  at  her;  holds  out  his  arms  to  her  at  door. 

Emma! 

FRAU  BUDEL  (running  to  him  and  embracing  him).   Abraham! 

TOYMAKER  (holding  her  for  a  moment).  All  will  come  right, 
Emma  —  all  will  come  right ! 

[She  nods  her  head,  speechless  with  grief,  trying  to  smile;  he 
turns  and  goes  out  of  the  room  smiling  at  her.  She  then  creeps 
over  to  the  Toymaker' 's  little  work-table  and,  with  infinite  yearn- 
ing and  tenderness,  kneels  down  and,  putting  her  arms  across 
the  table,  lays  her  head  down  on  them  and  cries  silently  —  her 
heart  broken.  A  pause.  Feet  and  voices  are  heard  on  the 
stairs  without.  Then  a  knock  at  door.  Frau  Budel  hears 
nothing,  but  weeps  despairingly.  The  knock  is  heard  again, 
and  then  the  door  is  opened,  and  in  bursts  Adolph  Budel  —  an 
enormous,  six-foot,  fair-haired  lad  of  the  commercial-traveller 
type  —  of  Kansas  City  —  who  belongs  to  the  Elks,  and  wears  a 
shark's  tooth  on  his  watch-chain.  He  is  dressed  in  a  brown 
business  coat,  dark  grey  trousers,  immaculate  white  waistcoat,  a 
white  automobile  coat,  hat,  gauntlets  and  goggles.  With  him  is 
his  chauffeur,  Tom  Macey,  a  typical  New  Yorker,  dressed  in 
black  leather  uniform.  Frau  Budel  sees  and  hears  nothing. 

CHAUFFEUR.   This  is  the  place,  sir! 

ADOLPH  (in  a  whisper  —  seeing  his  mother).  Wait  outside,  Tom 
—  till  I  call  you !  (Puts  coat  over  rail.  Exit  Macey.  Adolph 
stands  still  some  moments,  looking  tenderly  at  his  mother,  pull- 
ing off  his  gloves  at  last.  He  then  goes  slowly  towards  her. 
Comes  round  to  her.  Tenderly)  Frau  Budel ! 

FRAU  BUDEL  (without  raising  her  head  —  with  a  moaning  sob) . 
Yes! 

ADOLPH  (putting  a  hand  quietly  on  her).    Mother ! 


312          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

FRAU  BUDEL  (sits  slowly  up,  staring  at  him  through  her  tears, 

tremblingly).   Sir  —  who  are  you? 
ADOLPH  (Raising  her.    In  a  low  voice).  Mother  —  it  is  me  — 

your  son! 

FRAU  BUDEL  (vaguely  staring  at  him).    My  —  my  son? 
ADOLPH  (brokenly) .  Yes  —  your  boy  —  Mother  —  your  Adolph ! 

FRAU  BUDEL.     Adolph! 

[Stares  at  him. 

ADOLPH  (coming  nearer  to  her  on  his  knees,  and  putting  his  arms 
tenderly  around  her) .  Yes  —  I  am  your  boy  —  Mother  — 
your  boy! 

FRAU  BUDEL  (sobbing  and  pressing  the  big  man  close  to  her  heart). 
Adolph!  Oh,  my  Adolph!  (They  hold  each  other  tight  for  a 
while,  without  a  word)  You've  come  back!  YouVe  come 
back!  Oh,  my  boy!  My  little  boy!  My  baby!  (Rocks  to 
and  fro  with  him,  sobbing)  My  heart  has  starved  for  you. 
My  heart  has  starved  for  you!  My  heart  has  starved  for 
you!  Oh!  Oh! 

ADOLPH  (choking).   I  am  here  —  Mother  —  I  am  here! 

FRAU  BUDEL.   Adolph  —  Adolph !    My  Adolph ! 

ADOLPH.  Mother  —  I  didn't  know  you  were  so  pretty  —  how 
young  and  pretty  you  are  —  for  such  a  big  fellow  like  me ! 

FRAU  BUDEL.   Oh,  why  didn't  you  write? 

ADOLPH.  Oh  —  I  cannot  write  letters!  I  don't  know  what  to 
say!  I  can't  write  to  those  I  love. 

FRAU  BUDEL  (realizing  it  is  her  son).  Adolph!  —  Adolph! 
Where  did  you  come  from?  How  did  you  come? 

ADOLPH.   I  came  down  from  Berlin  in  my  bubble. 

FRAU  BUDEL  (puzzled).  Bubble? 

ADOLPH.   Yes  —  automobile  —  motor-car! 

FRAU  BUDEL.  What  is  this  —  my  boy  —  you  have  an  auto- 
machine? 

ADOLPH.  Yes,  Mother  —  yes  —  it's  a  six  cylinder,  and  it's  a 
beauty  on  the  up-grades! 

FRAU  BUDEL.  But,  Adolph,  my  son  —  only  princes  and  such 
people  have  such  things ! 

ADOLPH  (rising).  That's  it,  Mother  —  that's  it! 


The  Toy  maker  of  Nuremberg  313 

FRAU  BUDEL  (stitt  dazed).   That's  it? 

ADOLPH.   Mother  —  look  at  me  —  look  at  me  —  I'm  rich! 

FRAU  BUDEL.     Rich? 

ADOLPH  (excitedly) .  Yes  —  American  rich  —  really  —  gor- 
geously —  rollingly,  magnificently  rich! 

FRAU  BUDEL  (in  awe).   My  Adolph! 

ADOLPH  (laughing).  That's  it  —  I  never  wrote  —  because  I 
was  working  hard  —  heart-breakingly  hard  —  praying  all 
the  time  that  when  I  made  my  fortune  —  I'd  come  home  and 
buy  out  the  town  (with  a  sob)  for  you!  Well,  I  only  made 
my  pile  last  year  —  by  the  merest  stroke  of  luck! 

FRAU  BUDEL.     Luck? 

ADOLPH.  Yes,  luck!  I  was  in  Kansas  City  —  doing  drummer- 
work  for  suspenders  —  patent  suspenders  —  when  I  saw 
Bears  —  Teddy  Bears  —  you  know  —  these  things  —  these 
Toy  Bears! 

FRAU  BUDEL.   Yes  —  yes ! 

ADOLPH.  Well,  I  bought  out  McCleary's  shop  —  joined  forces 
—  and  scooped  the  market  of  Teddy  Bears ! 

FRAU  BUDEL  (dazed) .   Scooped? 

ADOLPH.  Yes,  Mother  —  I  cornered  Teddy  Bears  —  and, 
Mother  —  Mother,  they  sold  like  hot-cakes !  The  children 
dropped  their  dolls,  and  grabbed  up  the  bears!  Lord,  how 
the  money  rolled  in !  Mother,  I  am  rich  —  gorgeously,  mag- 
numptiously  —  rich!  I'm  called  the  "Teddy  Bear  King." 

FRAU  BUDEL  (in  horror).   The  Teddy  Bear  King! 

ADOLPH.  Yes  —  here's  one.  (Takes  out  a  little  white  Teddy 
Bear  from  his  pocket)  See,  I  always  carry  one. 

FRAU  BUDEL.    But  —  my  son  —  you  don't  know 

[A  knock  and  in  conies  the  auctioneer's  Clerk. 

CLERK.   It  is  near  six  o'clock,  Frau  Budel. 

ADOLPH.   Who  is  this,  Mother? 

FRAU  BUDEL.   The  Auctioneer  —  Adolph! 

ADOLPH.   What!    Auctioneer!    Why?    What  for? 

FRAU  BUDEL.  Oh,  Adolph  —  Kronfeldt  has  turned  us  out  — 
wouldn't  give  your  father  work  because  he  wouldn't  make 
Teddy  Bears!  Your  Teddy  Bears! 


314          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

ADOLPH  (astounded).   What! 

FRAU  BUDEL.   And  David  —  your  brother  —  is  in  love  with 

Fraulein   Hesta  —  and   Kronfeldt   thinks   your   father   is  a 

villain,   and    wanted    to    marry    into    his    family    for    the 

money! 

ADOLPH.   Kronfeldt  thinks  that,  does  he? 
FRAU  BUDEL  (weeping).   Yes  —  so  your  father  —  and  David  - 

are  going  to  America  —  to  start  a  ranch ! 

[Enter  Paul  on  the  run. 
PAUL.   David  —  David 

[Sees  Adolph;  turns  to  go. 
ADOLPH.   Here  —  you  —  what's  your  name? 
PAUL.   Paul,  sir! 
ADOLPH.   Tom! 
TOM.   Yes,  sir! 

[Enter  Chauffeur. 
ADOLPH  (scribbles  with  a  pencil  on  a  card) .   Here,  Paul  —  get 

into  my  bubble  and  show  Tom  here  —  the  quickest  way  to 

Herr  Kronfeldt's,  and  bring  Fraulein  Hesta  and  her  father 

here  as  quickly  as  you  can 

FRAU  BUDEL.   But  he  won't  come,  Adolph!     We've  tried  to 

write  him  —  ourselves ! 
ADOLPH.   Won't  come  —  won't  he?     Wait  till  he  reads  this! 

I'm  his  boss  —  Mother !  —  what  I  say  goes  with  Kronfeldt ! 
-  I'm  the  "Teddy  Bear  King" !    And  if  he  doesn't  get  here 

inside  of  twenty  minutes  —  Tom  Macey  —  I'll  make  you 

and  him  look  like  the  middle  of  last  July!    Quick,  both  of 

you! 

[Gives  card  to  Paul.    Exeunt  Paul  and  Chauffeur. 
PAUL  (as  he  goes  out,  in  awe).   The  Teddy  Bear  King! 
ADOLPH  (to  Auctioneer).   The  auction  is  off!    I'll  pay  you  for 

your  trouble. 
CLERK.   Oh,  thank  you,  sir! 

[Exits. 

ADOLPH.   Who  owns  this  house  —  who's  the  actual  landlord? 
FRAU  BUDEL.   Herr  Shultz! 
ADOLPH.   It's  ours!    We'll  buy  the  place!    God  —  I  never  had 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  315 

the  chance  to  do  what  I  wanted  with  my  money  —  (With  a 
catch  in  his  voice)  Mother,  I've  dreamt  of  doing  this  — 
Mother,  I've  dreamt  of  this!  Mother  —  you  say  my  brother 
David  —  can't  get  married  because  he's  too  poor? 

FRAU  BUDEL.   Yes  —  he  paints  the  eyelashes  on  the  dolls ! 

ADOLPH.  I'll  settle  that  —  fifty  thousand  marks  for  a  wedding 
present!  I'll  make  old  Kronfeldt  change  his  mind! 

FRAU  BUDEL.  Adolph  —  you  mean  —  your  father  —  David  — 
won't  be  taken  away  from  me? 

ADOLPH.  Taken  away  from  you?  (Embraces  her)  I'd  like  to 
see  the  man  who'd  dare  to!  No!  I'll  buy  this  house  for- 
ever —  for  the  whole  damn  family,  and  we'll  never  go  away, 
and  live  forever  here  —  together ! 

FRAU  BUDEL  (weeping).  Oh!  But  wait  —  your  father  —  he 
mustn't  see  you  at  first  —  it  would  be  too  much  for  him ! 
He's  coming  down- stairs  now! 

ADOLPH.   What  shall  I  do? 

FRAU  BUDEL  (pushing  him  out).  Hide  outside  the  front  door  — 
till  he  is  in  a  proper  state  to  tell  him! 

ADOLPH.  All  right!  (Kisses  his  mother)  Isn't  it  great  — 
Mother!  Aren't  you  proud  of  your  boy,  eh? 

FRAU  BUDEL.    Oh,  SO  much! 

ADOLPH.   And  I  made  it  by  the  merest  chance  —  Mother! 

FRAU  BUDEL.   Yes  —  yes  —    Now  wait  here  till  I  call  you ! 
[Pushes  him  out  door  and  shuts  it,  breathing  hard.     The  Toy- 
maker  enters,  carrying  with  difficulty  a  bird-cage,  a  large  vase, 
a  doll,  his  dog  under  his  arm,  and  the  Sergeant's  huge  revolver. 

FRAU  BUDEL.   What  are  those  things  —  Abraham? 

TOYMAKER.   My  —  my  personal  luggage ! 

[Enter  the  Sergeant  and  the  Poet,  carrying  more  toys  and  bric- 
a-brac. 

TOYMAKER  (weakly).   Emma! 

FRAU  BUDEL.   Yes,  Abraham? 

TOYMAKER.   I  say  good-bye  —  now. 

FRAU  BUDEL.   Yes  —  Abraham  —  but? 

TOYMAKER.   Wait  —  I  say  good-bye  to  the  room  first. 

ALL.   Yes. 


316  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

TOYMAKER.  Now  I  say  good-bye  —  quick!  (Goes  to  the  middle 
of  the  room,  holding  his  vase,  doll,  pistol,  and  bird-cage,  —  and 
stares  yearningly  all  round)  Good-bye,  old  room !  (Stands  still 
a  moment,  then  runs  to  his  wife)  Good-bye,  Emma! 

FRAU  BUDEL.   Wait,  Abraham 

TOYMAKER  (running  to  the  door).  No  —  no  —  I  can't  —  I  must 
be  quick!  —  Good-bye  —  good-bye! 

[Opens  the  door,  disclosing  Adolph,  and  behind  him  Herr  Kron- 
feldt,  smiling,  —  Hesta,  Paul  and  Chauffeur.  The  Toymaker 
halts  and  stares  at  them,  looking  up  at  the  big  stranger.  A  long 
pause.  Adolph  is  very  moved. 

ADOLPH  (brokenly).   It  was  cruel. 

TOYMAKER.    Yes,  Sir. 

ADOLPH.   Don't  you  know  me? 

TOYMAKER  (dazed).   No,  sir! 

ADOLPH.    I'm  your  son. 

TOYMAKER  (nodding  his  head).   Yes,  sir? 

ADOLPH.   Father  —  I'm  your  boy,  come  back  to  you.     Come 

back  —  rich!     I've  made  a  fortune!     I'm  the  "Teddy  Bear 

King!" 

TOYMAKER.   The  Teddy  Bear  King? 
ADOLPH  (holding  out  his  arms) .   Father  —  Father  —  I'm  your 

boy,  Adolph! 
TOYMAKER  (stares  at  him  a  long  while;  then  with  a  little  cry  drops 

everything  in  his  arms) .  Adolph !  —  my  Adolph ! 

[They  embrace.    Everyone  is  moved. 
SERGEANT  (taking  out  a  handkerchief,  brokenly).   Gott  in  Him- 

mel! 
TOYMAKER  (Clings  to  Adolph,  dazed  and  astonished.     Turns  to 

Emma).     He  is  here,  Emma.    He  is  here  —  our  firstborn! 
FRAU  BUDEL.   Yes,  I  know  —  I  know! 
ADOLPH.   Father,  it's  all  right!     Everything's  all  right!     You 

won't  have  to  go  to  America  now.    As  for  David  and  Frau- 

lein  Hesta  —  here  she  is  —  it's  all  settled. 
KRONFELDT  (smiling  and  bowing).   It's  all  right,  Budd.    It's  all 

right,  now. 
ADOLPH.   It's  all  settled,  Father!  —    Where  is  David? 


The  Toymaker  of  Nuremberg  317 

TOYMAKER  (Still  clinging  to  his  son,  motions  feebly.  Looks  up 
yearningly  into  his  face).  We  —  we  don't  go? 

ADOLPH.   No  —  Father  —  here  you  stay. 

TOYMAKER  (Turns  and  gives  a  long  and  wistful  look  about  the  room, 
still  clinging  to  the  lapel  of  his  son's  coat.  Then  he  again  looks 
yearningly  up  at  his  son,  like  a  child).  Please,  I  —  I  can  stay? 

ADOLPH  (nods).   Yes. 

TOYMAKER.     Oh ! 

[Sighs. 
ADOLPH  (brokenly).   Yes,  Father.    Why,  I  could  buy  the  whole 

square  if  you  wanted  it !    It's  yours  and  always  will  be  yours 

forever ! 

TOYMAKER  (looks  around  room  as  before).   I  —  I  can  stay? 
ADOLPH  (nods).   Yes. 
TOYMAKER  (sighs).   Oh! 
ADOLPH.   Oh,    my    God,    yes!  —  Daddy  —  forever  —  forever! 

I'm  here  to  care  for  you  now  —  to  protect  you  —  Daddy ! 

Daddy!    You  can  stay! 
TOYMAKER  (stares  up  at  his  son;  then  a  startled  look).   And 

David!    Dave!  —    Oh,  oh,  come!    (Beckons  Hesta  with  both 

hands)    C  —  come.    (Kronfeldt   disengages    her.      She   comes 

quickly  to  him)    Da  —    (Weakly)    David. 

[Leads  her  tremblingly  to  door,  and  tries  to  call.    All  watch  him. 
THE  BOY  (off  stage).   Yes,  Father! 
TOYMAKER.   Come! 

[Enter  the  Boy,  carrying  his  arms  full  of  books. 
THE  BOY.   Yes,  Father.    (Sees  Hesta;  lets  books  fall  with  a  crash) 

Hesta! 

TOYMAKER.   David,  it  has  come.    It  is  the  Teddy  Bear. 
THE  BOY.   What  are  you  saying,  Father? 
TOYMAKER.   The  Teddy  Bear.    He  is  rich.    He  has  come.    He 

is  my  son.    He  is  Adolph. 
DAVID.   Adolph! 
TOYMAKER.   Yes,  he  is  rich.    I  told  you.    He  gives  you  your 

love  lady.    So! 

[Joins  hands  of  Boy  and  Girl. 
DAVID.   You  mean? 


318  A   Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

TOYMAKER.   Yes.    (Turns  his  back  on  the  lovers  and  waves  to  the 

others)    We  — 'we  not  look. 
DAVID  (with  sob,  embraces  Hesta).   My  Hesta! 
THE  GIRL.   David! 
TOYMAKER  (His  back  to  lovers.    Smiles  through  tears;  his  voice 

breaks  for  the  first  time;  simply).    I  —  I  —  think  I  thank  God. 

CURTAIN 
END  OF  PLAY 


ABOUT  SIX  WHO  PASS  WHILE  THE  LENTILS 

BOIL 

Who  has  ever  heard  of  a  theater  in  a  portmanteau?  Just  as 
well  get  a  camel  through  the  eye  of  a  needle,  or  make  a  thim- 
ble out  of  a  tea-cup.  Well,  it's  true,  nevertheless,  and  Mr. 
Stuart  Walker,  a  young  man  interested  in  the  theater,  has 
done  it.  When  he  was  a  boy,  he  used  to  amuse  himself  with  a 
toy  theater.  Older  men  than  he  —  Gilbert  Chesterton,  for 
instance  —  have  amused  themselves  with  miniature  playhouses, 
complete  in  every  respect,  carrying  their  scenery,  lighting  plant 
and  repertory.  The  signs  of  old  age  are  seen  in  the  incapacity 
to  play.  One  of  the  best  books  I  ever  read  was  by  H.  G.  Wells, 
who,  with  his  own  son,  mapped  out  on  the  floor  a  complete 
military  campaign  with  leaden  soldiers  and  their  leaden  can- 
non. A  toy  theater  is,  therefore,  a  "play"  much  like  the  real 
thing. 

The  fun  Stuart  Walker  had  when  he  was  a  boy  in  Kentucky 
was  remembered  when  he  went  to  college,  at  the  University  of 
Cincinnati,  and  his  varied  experiences  in  play-acting,  his  vivid 
picturings  of  drama  drawn  from  his  favourite  ballads,  his  in- 
tense interest  in  Greek  and  Elizabethan  stages  —  all  of  these 
tendencies  went  into  his  imagination  which  took  fire  at  the 
thought  that  he  might  build  a  theater  complete,  so  compactly 
constructed  as  to  fold  up  in  small  space.  Thus  the  Portman- 
teau Theater  —  a  most  appropriate  name  —  came  into  being; 
and  it  was  so  conceived  that  it  could  be  taken  anywhere,  —  set 
up  in  a  parlour,  a  schoolroom,  a  settlement  house,  even  a 
nursery,  with  the  smallest  possible  expense. 

Not  being  able  at  first  to  afford  paying  royalties  for  his 
dramas,  Mr.  Walker  —  gifted  with  a  unique  ability  to  write 
plays  of  a  special  character  —  created  his  own  repertory, 
and  "Six  Who  Pass  While  the  Lentils  Boil"  was  one  of  the 


320  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

first  dramas  he  wrote.  His  idea  was  to  appeal  to  the  im- 
agination of  his  audiences  —  young  and  old  alike  —  to  sug- 
gest just  enough  to  make  those  in  front  of  his  curtain  imagine 
the  rest.  When  you  go  to  the  theater,  it  is  not  sufficient  that 
you  think  only  of  what  is  shown  you;  you  must  enter  into  the 
"make-believe"  spirit  of  the  story,  just  as  the  Elizabethans,  in 
the  time  of  Shakespeare  —  when  there  was  little  or  no  scenery 

—  were  content  to  have  a  sign-post  on  the  stage  reading, 
"This  is  Elsinor",  when  "Hamlet"  was  given. 

Read  what  the  Prologue  says  at  the  very  beginning  of 
"Six  Who  Pass  While  the  Lentils  Boil."  Put  a  copper  pot  in 
the  middle  of  the  stage,  and  then  imagine  it  full  of  boiling 
water,  imagine  the  flames  —  imagine  lots  of  things  not  there. 
You  thus  become  an  important  part  of  the  play  —  in  fact  as 
important  a  part  as  the  actors  and  as  the  scenery. 

Mr.  Walker's  experiment,  surveyed  in  detail  in  his  first  vol- 
ume of  "Portmanteau  Plays"  (Stewart  &  Kidd  Co.),  surprised 
the  managers.  He  visited  places,  bag  and  baggage,  not  to  be 
reached  by  the  big  theater;  he  entertained  thousands  of  folks 
who  were  thirsting  for  just  such  artistic  things  as  he  did,  inex- 
pensively and  well.  Having  had  the  estimable  experience  of 
working  at  one  time  under  the  guidance  of  Mr.  David  Belasco 

—  one  of  America's  most  artistic  theater  directors  —  he  learned 
from  that  wizard  of  stage  effect  certain  principles  which  he  im- 
mediately adapted  to  his  less  extravagant  needs.    By  the  sim- 
plest means  —  with  the  minimum  outlay  of  money  —  he  cre- 
ated atmosphere,  and  his  highest  triumph  was  reached  when 
he  gave  a  series  of  Arabian  Nights  plays  by  Lord  Dunsany,  the 
Irish  dramatist,  and  put  on  a  dramatic  presentment  of  the 
Book  of  Job.     There  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  Stuart 
Walker's  idea  of  a  Toy  Theater  —  professionally  perfect  in  its 
acting  and  artistically  beautiful  in  its  modern  scenery  —  could 
be  carried  further  and  further  until  it  became  a  regular  part  of 
our  village  life. 

If  there  is  such  a  thing  successfully  managed  as  a  Caravan 
Library,  why  should  there  not  be  such  a  thing  as  a  Caravan 
Theater?  At  one  time,  Mr.  Ben  Greet  and  Mr.  Charles  Co- 


Six  Who  Pass  While  the  Lentils  Boil        321 

burn  entertained  America  in  the  Spring  and  Summer  of  each 
year  with  delightful  series  of  out-door  plays  —  given  on  front 
lawns,  on  college  campuses,  in  woodland  clearings.  What  a 
joy  it  was,  on  a  clear  Summer's  day,  with  the  afternoon  sunlight 
dancing  and  sparkling  like  the  heart  of  Rosalind,  to  sit  through 
a  performance  of  "As  You  Like  It"!  New  professional  inter- 
ests have  drawn  these  two  managers  in  other  channels. 

So,  with  Mr.  Walker,  —  his  ambition  may  carry  him  in  other 
directions,  but  his  Portmanteau  Theater  is  an  idea  well  worth 
preserving  and  using  as  an  excellent  and  vital  part  of  the  mod- 
ern theater.  Since  the  Mountain  could  not  come  to  Ma- 
homet, there  was  nothing  else  but  for  Mahomet  to  go  to  the 
Mountain.  And  so,  often,  when  it  is  impossible  for  village 
folk  or  hill  folk  or  groups  of  people  in  cities  to  go  to  the  theater, 
put  your  theater  in  several  dress-suit  cases,  and  go  to  them. 
That's  Mr.  Walker's  idea,  and  it  won  success.  It's  just  as  if 
you  had  a  Toy  Theater  which  you  wanted  to  take  next  door 
for  a  friend  to  play  with.  It  doesn't  require  long  to  move  it. 
You  tuck  it  under  your  arm. 

In  the  Spring,  of  1915,  the  Portmanteau  Theater  came  into 
existence.  By  rights  it  ought  never  to  go  out  of  existence.  It 
should  take  root  in  the  amusement  life  of  everyone. 

The  music  for  the  "Ballad  of  the  Miller's  Sons"  and  the 
"Ballad  of  the  Three  Little  Pigs"  is  given  in  Stewart  &  Kidd's 
"Modern  Plays",  edited  by  Frank  Shay. 


SIX  WHO  PASS  WHILE  THE  LENTILS  BOIL 
BY  STUART  WALKER 


It  is  advisable  in  presenting  Six  WHO  PASS  to  precede  the  play  with  the  Prologue  to 
The  Portmanteau  Theater,  which  is  to  be  found  in  PORTMANTEAU  PLAYS  by  Stuart  Walker. 

A  delightful  evening  of  plays  can  be  made  up  of  (1)  The  Prologue  to  the  Portmanteau 
Theater,  (2)  THE  THIMPLET,  (3)  NEVERTHELESS  or  THE  VERT  NAKED  EOT  or  THE 
MEDICINE  SHOW,  (4)  Six  WHO  PASS  WHILE  THE  LENTILS  BOIL.  All  these  plays  can  be 
found  in  PORTMANTEAU  PLAYS  or  MORE  PORTMANTEAU  PLATS,  by  Stuart  Walker,  pub- 
lished by  Stewart  Kidd  Company. 

It  is  advisable  in  playing  Six  WHO  PASS  not  to  attempt  any  sort  of  mechanical  ar- 
rangement of  the  Butterfly.  A  personification  of  it  would  be  even  more  distracting.  The 
best  plan  to  follow  is  to  have  a  stationary,  large  butterfly  poised  somewhere  near  the  win- 
dows in  the  back  wall  of  the  kitchen. 


COPTHIQHT,    1921,    BT   STEWART   KlDD   Co." 
All  rights  reserved 

Reprinted  by  permission  of  the  publishers,  Stewart  Kidd  Company,  from  "Portman- 
teau Plays,"  by  Stuart  Walker. 

This  play  is  fully  protected  by  copyrights.  All  public  performances  are  forbidden.  All 
dramatic  and  producing  rights  are  retained  by  Stuart  Walker,  who  may  be  addressed  at 
304  Carnegie  Hall,  New  York  City. 


SIX  WHO  PASS  WHILE  THE  LENTILS  BOIL 

FIRST  PERFORMANCE  AT  CHRISTODORA  HOUSE,  NEW  YORK 

CITY 

July  14,  1917 

PROLOGUE  TO  THE  THEATER     ....  Hugh  Dillman 

PROLOGUE  TO  THE  PLAY Henry  Kiefer 

THE  DEVICE-BEARER Edmond  Crenshaw 

IN  THE  AUDIENCE Francis  Stevens 


THE  BOY James  W.  Morrison 

THE  QUEEN Judith  Lowry 

THE  MIME Richard  Farrell 

THE  MILKMAID Nancy  Winston 

THE  BLINDMAN Joseph  Graham 

THE  BALLAD-SINGER Tom  Powers 

THE  HEADSMAN       McKay  Morris 

At  this  performance,  which  was  not  open  to  the  public,  Oscar 
Craik  manipulated  the  mechanism  of  the  Butterfly.  At  later 
performances  it  was  decided  to  avoid  this  disturbing  element 
in  so  simple  a  play,  and  ever  after  the  Butterfly  poised  where 
he  could  see  and  hear,  but  not  distract. 

First  public  performance  at  Jordan  Hall,  Boston,  Massachu- 
setts, February  14,  1916,  and  at  the  39th  Street  Theatre,  New 
York  City,  November  27,  1916. 

PROLOGUE  TO  THE  THEATER     ....  Florence  Wollersen 

PROLOGUE  TO  THE  PLAY Lew  Medbury 

THE  DEVICE-BEARER Edmond  Crenshaw 

IN  THE  AUDIENCE Agnes  Rogers 


326  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

THE  BOY Gregory  Kelly 

THE  QUEEN Judith  Lowry 

THE  MIME Wilmot  Heitland* 

THE  MILKMAID Nancy  Winston 

THE  BLINDMAN Edgar  Stehli 

THE  BALLAD-SINGER Stuart  Walker 

THE  HEADSMAN       McKay  Morris 


THE  BOY 

THE  QUEEN 

THE  MIME 

THE  MILKMAID 

THE  BLINDMAN 

THE  BALLAD-SINGER 

THE  DREADFUL  HEADSMAN 

You  (in  the  audience) 

The  Scene  is  a  k  Ichen 
The  Period  is  when  you  will 

*Played  in  New  York  by  Willard  Webster.    When  the  play  was  "revived"  in  Indian- 
apolis and  Chicago,  in  1917,  the  Headsman  was  played  by  George  Gaul. 


SIX  WHO  PASS  WHILE  THE  LENTILS  BOIL 

Before  the  opening  of  the  curtains  the  Prologue  enters  upon  the 
fore-stage  and  summons  the  Device-Bearer  who  carries  a  large 
copper  pot. 

PROLOGUE.  This  is  a  copper  pot.  (The  Device-Bearer  shows  it 
to  the  audience  carefully)  It  is  filled  with  boiling  water.  (The 
Device-Bearer  makes  the  sound  of  bubbling  water)  It  is  on  the 
fire.  See  the  flames.  (The  Device-Bearer  sets  the  pot  in  the 
center  of  the  forestage  and  blows  under  it  with  a  pair  of  bellows) 
And  see  the  water  boiling  over.  (The  Device-Bearer  again 
makes  the  sound  of  bubbling  water  and  then  withdraws  to  where 
he  can  see  the  play  from  the  side  of  the  forestage)  We  are  look- 
ing into  the  kitchen  of  the  Boy  whose  mother  left  him  alone. 
I  do  not  know  where  she  has  gone  but  I  do  know  that  he  is 
gathering  lentils  now. 
YOU.  What  are  lentils? 

PROLOGUE.  A  lentil?  Why,  a  lentil,  don't  you  see,  is  not  a 
bean  nor  yet  a  pea;  but  it  is  kin  to  both.  .  .  .  You  must 
imagine  that  the  boy  has  built  the  fire  and  set  the  water 
boiling.  He  is  very  industrious  but  you  need  not  feel  sorry 
for  him.  His  mother  is  very  good  to  him  and  he  is  safe. 
Are  you  ready  now?  .  .  .  Very  well.  Be  quiet. 
[The  Prologue  claps  his  hands  twice. 

The  curtains  open  and  a  kitchen  is  disclosed.  There  are  a 
bench,  a  stool  and  a  cupboard.  A  great  door  at  the  back  opens  into 
a  corridor.  There  are  also  two  windows  —  one  higher  than  the 
other  looking  upon  the  corridor.  At  the  right  a  door  opens  into 
the  bedroom  of  the  Boys  mother  A  great  pewter  spoon  lies  upon 
the  shelf  in  the  cupboard. 

A  large  Butterfly  conies  in  through  the  doorway,  flits  about  and 
looks  off  stage. 


328  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

The  song  of  the  Boy  is  heard  from  the  garden.  The  Butterfly 
goes  to  the  door,  poises  a  moment,  then  alights  on  the  cup- 
board. 

The  Boy  enters  with  a  great  bowl  filled  with  lentils. 
The  Butterfly  flies  to  the  bowl  and  satisfied  returns  to  the  cup- 
board. 

The  Boy  smiles  at  the  Butterfly  but  he  does  not  touch  him. 
Then  he  empties  the  lentils  into  the  pot  and  water  splashes  on  his 
careless  hand.  A  moan  is  heard  in  the  distance.  The  Boy  and 
the  Butterfly  go  to  the  door. 

The  Queen  s  voice  is  heard  calling: 
Butterfly,  Butterfly,  where  shall  I  hide? 
[Enter  the  Queen. 

QUEEN.   Boy,  Boy  —  oh,  I  am  distraught! 
YOU.   What  is  distraught? 
PROLOGUE    Distraught  means  distracted,  perplexed,  beset  with 

doubt,  worried  by  some  fear. 
BOY  (pityingly).   Why  are  you  distraught? 
QUEEN.   Oh  —  oh  —  oh  —  They  are  going  to  behead  me! 
BOY.   When? 
QUEEN.   Before  midday. 
BOY.   Why  are  they  going  to  behead  you?    Is  it  a  story?    Tell 

it  to  me. 

QUEEN.   I  was  guilty  of  a  breach  of  etiquette. 
BOY.   What  is  that? 
QUEEN.   I  did  something  that  was  considered  bad  manners  and 

the  law  says  the  punishment  is  decapitation. 
YOU.   What  is  decapitation? 

PROLOGUE.   Decapitation  is  beheading;  cutting  off  one's  head. 
BOY.   Why,  only  kings  and  queens  can  be  decapitated. 

QUEEN.   Oh,  I  know  —  I  know 

BOY  (disappointed).   Are  you  a  queen? 

QUEEN.   Yes. 

BOY    I  thought  all  queens  were  big.    My  mother  says  they  are 

always  regal.    And  my  mother  knows. 

QUEEN.   Oh,  I  am  the  Queen.     /  am  the  Queen;  but  I  am  so 
unhappy. 


Six  Who  Pass  While  the  Lentils  Boil 

BOY.   My  mother  told  me  kings  and  queens   knew  no  fear. 

Why,  you're  afraid ! 
QUEEN.   Oh,  Boy,  Boy,  I  am  your  Queen  and  I  am  afraid  and 

unhappy.    And  queens  are  just  like  other  people  when  they 

are  afraid  and  unhappy. 

BOY  (dis  ippointed) .   Aren't  they  always  regal? 
QUEEN.   No  —  no.    Oh,  little  boy,  hide  me,  hide  me  from  the 

Dreadful  Headsman ! 
BOY.   I  haven't  any  place  to  hide  you.    You  couldn't  get  under 

the  bench,  and  you  couldn't  get  into  the  cupboard. 
QUEEN.   Little  boy,  can't  you  see  that  I  shall  lose  my  head  if 

I  am  found? 
BOY.  You  might  have  hidden  in  the  pot  if  I  hadn't  put  it  on 

the  fire. 

QUEEN.   Oh  —  Oh  —  Oh 

BOY.   I'm  sorry. 

QUEEN.   I  am  distraught. 

BOY.   Well,  I'll  hide  you,  because  you  are  distraught;  but  —  I 

am  not  sure  you  are  a  queen.  .  .  .    Where's  your  crown? 

You  can't  be  a  queen  without  a  crown! 

[She  reaches  up  to  her  head. 
QUEEN.   Oh,  I  was  running  so  fast  that  it  must  have  slipped 

from  my  head.     (Sees  the  Butterfly)     Butterfly,  tell  him  I 

am  your  Queen. 

[The  Butterfly  flies  to  her  head  and  lights  on  her  disheveled 

locks  like  a  diadem. 
BOY.   Oh,  I  have  talked  to  the  Queen!  .  .  .  You  can  hide  hi 

my  mother's  bedroom  in  there;   but  first  please  tell  me  a 

story. 

QUEEN.   They  will  find  me  here.    I'll  tell  you  a  story  after- 
ward. 

BOY.   I  want  you  to  tell  me  now. 
QUEEN.   Well,  you  watch  at  the  door  and  warn  me  when  you 

see  someone  coming.     (The  Butterfly  brushes  her  ear)      But 

stay,  the  Butterfly  says  he'll  watch.    [The  Butterfly  goes  to 

the  door. 
BOY.  Will  he  know? 


330  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

QUEEN.  Oh,  yes.  He  is  a  wonderful  butterfly  —  wise  beyond 
his  years. 

BOY.  Sit  down  and  tell  me  your  story.  [He  places  a  black  pil- 
low for  the  Queen  on  the  step  and  an  orange  pillow  for  himself. 

QUEEN.  Last  night  we  celebrated  the  second  year  of  peace 
with  the  neighbouring  kingdom.  We  were  dancing  the 
minuet  just  after  the  banquet,  when  I  stepped  on  the  ring- 
toe  of  my  husband  the  King's  great-aunt. 

BOY.   Didn't  you  say  excuse  me? 

QUEEN.  It  was  useless.  The  law  says  that  if  a  queen  steps  on 
the  ring-toe  of  the  King's  great-aunt  or  any  member  of  her 
family  the  Queen  must  be  beheaded  while  the  King's  four 
clocks  are  striking  twelve  at  midday. 

BOY.   Oh,  that  means  to-day? 

QUEEN.   Yes. 

BOY.  Why,  it's  almost  midday  now.  See,  I've  just  set  the 
lentils  boiling. 

QUEEN.  If  you  can  hide  me  until  after  the  King's  four  clocks 
strike  twelve  I  shall  be  safe. 

BOY.  Why  are  there  four  clocks? 

QUEEN.  Because  the  law  allows  only  one  clock  for  each  tower 
in  the  castle. 

BOY.  Then  I  hear  all  the  King's  clocks  every  day!  There's  a 
big  clock,  and  two  clocks  not  so  big,  and  a  tiny  little  clock. 

QUEEN.  Yes,  those  are  the  four. 

BOY.   Why  will  you  be  safe  after  the  four  clocks  strike  twelve? 

QUEEN.   Because  that  is  the  law. 

BOY.   Aren't  laws  funny? 

QUEEN.   Funny?    This  one  is  very  sad,  I  think. 

BOY.   Mightn't  it  be  twelve  any  midday? 

QUEEN.  No;  the  Prime  Minister  of  my  grandfather  who  passed 
the  law  decided  that  it  meant  only  the  following  midday. 

BOY  (rising  and  rushing  to  the  door).  They'll  find  you  here. 

QUEEN  (rising  calmly).  Oh,  no,  this  is  the  short  cut  to  the  be- 
heading block.  Through  that  corridor. 

BOY.   Why  didn't  you  run  the  other  way? 

QUEEN.   Because  they  always  search  for  escaped  people  in  that 


Six  Who  Pass  While  the  Lentils  Boil        331 

direction.    So  I  ran  through  your  garden  and  into  this  room. 
They'll  never  search  for  me  so  close  to  the  castle. 

BOY.   How  did  you  escape? 

QUEEN.   I [The  Butterfly  seems  agitated. 

BOY.  You 

QUEEN.   Someone  is  coming.    Hide  me! 

BOY.   In  here  —  in  my  mother's  room.    'Sh !    'Sh ! 

[The  Queen  goes  out.    Enter  the  Mime.    He  pokes  his  head  in 
the  lower  window  and  peeps  around  the  door.    The  Boy  turns. 

BOY  (weakly).   Are  you  the  Dreadful  Headsman? 

MIME.    What? 

BOY.   Are  you  the  Dreadful  Headsman? 

MIME.   Do  I  look  like  a  headsman? 

BOY.   I  don't  knew;  I've  never  seen  one. 

MIME.   Well,  suppose  I  am? 

BOY.  Are  you? 

MIME.   Maybe  I  am. 

BOY.  Oh! 

MIME.  Booh! 

BOY.   I  'm  —  I  'm  —  not  afraid. 

MIME.   Bah! 

BOY.   And  my  mother  isn't  here. 

MIME.   Br  —  r  —  r  —  r ! 

I  The  Boy  reaches  for  his  knife. 

MIME.   Bing! 

BOY.   I  wasn't  going  to  hurt  you ! 

MIME.   'Sh!  .  .  .  'Sh!  .  .  .  'Sh!  .  .  . 

BOY.   I'll  give  you  my  knife  if  you'll  go  'way. 

MIME.   Ah,  —  ha ! 

BOY.   It's  nearly  midday  and  you'd  better  go. 

MIME.  Well,  give  me  the  knife. 

BOY.  Promise  me  to  go. 

MIME  (laughs,  turning  away).   Aren't  you  going  to  the  behead- 
ing? 

BOY.  No.    I  have  to  boil  the  lentils  for  our  midday  meal. 

MIME.   May  I  come  back  and  eat  some? 

BOY.  You'll  have  to  ask  my  mother. 


332  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

MIME.   Where  is  she? 

BOY.   She's  over  that  way.    She  went  to  the  market  to  buy  a 

bobbin. 

YOU.   What  is  a  bobbin? 
PROLOGUE.   A  bobbin  is  a  spool  upon  which  thread  is  wound, 

and  it  is  sharp  at  one  end  so  that  it  can  be  easily  passed 

backward  and  forward,  to  and  fro,  through  the  other  threads 

in  making  lace. 

MIME  (starting  off).   Well,  I'll  be  back  to  eat  some  lentils. 
BOY  (too  eagerly).   You'd  better  hurry. 
MIME.   You  seem  to  want  to  get  rid  of  me. 
BOY   (allaying  suspicion).   Well,  I  think  you'd  better  go  or 

you'll  be  late  —  and  it's  very  wrong  to  be  late. 
MIME  (going  toward  the  door) .   I  think  I'll  —  (changing  his  mind) 

sit  down. 

BOY  (disappointed).   Oh! 

MIME.   What  would  you  say  if  I  wasn't  the  Headsman? 
BOY.   But  you  said  you  were. 
MIME.   I  said  maybe  I  was. 
BOY.  Aren't  you? 
MIME.   Maybe  I'm  not. 
BOY.   Honest? 
MIME.   Um,  hum. 
BOY  (relieved).   Oh!  .  .  . 
MIME.   You  were  afraid. 
BOY.   No  ...  I  wasn't. 
MIME.   Would  you  fight? 
BOY.  You  bet  I  would. 

MIME.   It  wouldn't  take  me  a  minute  to  lick  you. 
BOY.   Maybe  it  wouldn't,  but  I  wouldn't  give  up  right  away. 

That  would  be  cowardly.  .  .  .  Who  are  you? 
MIME.   I'm  a  mim6  — 
BOY.  What's  a  mime? 
MIME.  A  mime  s  a  mime. 
BOY.   Go  on  and  tell  me. 
MIME.  A  mime's  a  mountebank. 
BOY.  What's  a  mountebank? 


Six  Who  Pass  While  the  Lentils  Boil        333 

MIME.   A  mountebank's  a  strolling  player. 

BOY.  Are  you  going  to  perform  for  me? 

MIME.   Not  to-day  —  I'm  on  my  way  to  the  decapitation. 

BOY.   Do  you  want  to  see  the  decapitation? 

MIME.   Well,  yes.     But  most  of  all  I  want  to  pick  up  a   few 
coins. 

BOY.  How? 

MIME.   Why,  I'll  perform  after  the  Queen  has  lost  her  head. 

BOY.   Won't  you  be  too  sorry? 

MIME.  No.  You  see,  I'll  be  thinking  mostly  about  what  I'm 
going  to  do.  I  have  to  do  my  best  because  it  is  hard  to  be 
more  interesting  than  a  decapitation.  And  after  it's  all  over 
the  crowd  will  begin  to  talk  and  to  move  about:  and  I'll 
have  to  rush  up  to  the  front  of  them  and  cry  out  at  the  top 
of  my  lungs,  "Stop  —  Ho,  for  Jack  the  Juggler!  Would 
you  miss  him?  In  London,  where  the  king  of  kings  lives,  all 
the  knights  and  ladies  of  the  Court  would  leave  a  crowning 
to  watch  Jack  the  Juggler  toss  three  golden  balls  with  one 
hand  or  balance  a  weather-vane  upon  his  nose."  Then  a  si- 
lence will  come  upon  the  crowd  and  they  will  all  turn  to  me. 
Someone  will  say,  "Where  is  this  Jack  the  Juggler?"  And  I 
shall  answer,  "Jack  the  Juggler,  the  greatest  of  the  great, 
the  pet  of  kings,  entertainer  to  the  Pope  and  the  joy  of 
Cathay  stands  before  you."  And  I'll  throw  back  my  cloak 
and  stand  revealed.  So!  Someone  will  then  shout,  "Let  us 
have  it,  Jack."  So  I'll  draw  my  three  golden  balls  from 
my  pouch  —  like  this  —  and  then  begin 
[The  Boy  is  watching  b  eathlessly  and  the  Butterfly  is  inter- 
ested too.  Their  disappointment  is  keen  when  Jack  does  noth- 
ing. 

BOY.   Aren't  you  going  to  show  me? 

MIME.  No,  I  must  be  off. 

BOY.  Aren't  you  ever  coming  back? 

MIME.  Maybe,  yes;  perhaps,  no. 

BOY.   I'll  give  you  some  lentils  if  you'll  juggle  the  balls  for  me. 

MIME  (sniffs  the  pot).   They  aren't  cooked  yet. 

BOY.   Let  me  hold  your  golden  balls. 


334  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

MIME  (takes  a  gold  ball  from  his  pouch  and  lets  the  Boy  hold  it). 
Here's  one. 

BOY.   And  do  they  pay  you  well? 

MIME  (taking  the  ball  from  the  Boy).  Ay,  that  they  do.  If  I 
am  as  interesting  as  the  beheading  I'll  get  perhaps  fifteen 
farthings  in  money  and  other  things  that  I  can  exchange  for 
food  and  raiment. 

BOY.   I'm  going  to  be  a  mime  and  buy  a  castle  and  a  sword. 

MIME.  Maybe  so  and  maybe  not.  Who  knows?  .  .  .  Good- 
bye. [He  goes  out 

BOY  (to  the  Butterfly).  If  he  had  been  the  Dreadful  Headsman 
I  would  have  slain  him.  So!  ...  "Ah,  wicked  Headsman, 
you  shall  not  behead  the  Queen!  .  .  Cross  not  that  thresh- 
old or  I'll  run  you  through." 

[Throughout  this  the  Butterfly  shows  great  interest  and  enters 
into  the  spirit  of  it,  being  absorbed  at  times  and  frightened  at 
others.  Enter  the  Milkmaid  at  door. 

MILKMAID.     Pst!    .    .    .    Pst! 

BOY  (startled).   Oh! 

MILKMAID.   Are  you  going  to  the  decapitation? 

BOY.  No.    Are  you? 

MILKMAID.   That  I  am. 

BOY.   Will  your  mother  let  you  go? 

MILKMAID.   She  doesn't  know. 

BOY.   Did  you  run  away? 

MILKMAID.   No.    I  went  out  to  milk  the  cow. 

BOY.   And  did  you  do  it? 

MILKMAID.   Yes. 

BOY.   Why  didn't  you  wait  until  you  came  back? 

MILKMAID.   My  mother  was  looking  and  I  had  to  let  her  see 

me  doing  something. 
BOY.   How  did  you  get  away  when  you  took  the  milk-pails 

into  the  house? 
MILKMAID.   I  didn't  take  them  in.     As  soon  as  my  mother 

turned  her  back  I  hid  the  pails  and  I  ran  through  here  to 

take  a  short  cut. 
BOY.   Where  did  you  hide  the  milk? 


j 


Six  Who  Pass  While  the  Lentils  Boil        335 

MILKMAID.   In  the  hollow  tree. 

BOY.   Won't  it  sour? 

MILKMAID.   Maybe. 

BOY.   Won't  your  mother  scold  you? 

MILKMAID.   Yes,  of  course,  but  I  couldn't  miss  the  beheading. 

BOY.   Will  you  take  the  sour  milk  home? 

MILKMAID.  Yes,  and  after  my  mother  scolds  me  I'll  make  it 
into  nice  cheese  and  sell  it  to  the  King's  Cook,  and  then 
mother  will  forgive  me. 

BOY  (sniffing  the  pot).  You'd  better  hurry.  It's  nearly  mid- 
day. Don't  you  smell  the  lentils? 

MILKMAID.   The  Headsman  hasn't  started  yet. 

BOY  (giggling).   He'd  better  hurry. 

MILKMAID.   They  can't  find  the  Queen. 

BOY  (so  innocently).   Did  she  escape? 

MILKMAID.   Yes. 

BOY.   Are  they  hunting  for  her? 

MILKMAID.  Yes,  and  they've  offered  a  big  reward  to  the  per- 
son who  finds  her. 

BOY.   How  much? 

MILKMAID.   A  pail  of  gold  and  a  pair  of  finger  rings. 

BOY.  That's  a  good  deal  .  .  .  With  a  pail  of  gold  I  could  buy 
my  mother  a  velvet  dress  and  a  silken  kerchief  and  a  bon- 
net made  of  cloth  of  gold  —  and  I  could  buy  myself  a  milk- 
white  palfrey. 

MILKMAID.   And  you'd  never  have  to  work  again. 

BOY.  But  she's  such  a  gentle  Queen.  Where  are  they  hunting 
her? 

MILKMAID.   Everywhere. 

BOY.  Everywhere!  .  .  .  Maybe  she's  waiting  at  the  behead- 
ing block. 

MILKMAID.  Silly  goose!  She  wouldn't  try  to  escape  this  way. 
She'd  go  in  the  opposite  direction. 

BOY.   Do  people  always  run  in  the  opposite  direction? 

MILKMAID.   Of  course,  everybody  knows  that. 

BOY.   I  wish  I  could  go. 

MILKMAID.    Come  on. 


336  A   Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

BOY.   Um  —  uh.    The  lentils  might  burn. 

MILKMAID.    Pour  some  cold  water  on  them. 

BOY.   Um  —  uh.    I  promised  I  wouldn't  leave  the  house. 

MILKMAID.   Oh,  it  will  be  wonderful! 

BOY.   The  Mime  will  be  there. 

MILKMAID.  The   one   with   the    long   cloak   and   the    golden 

balls? 
BOY.   Um  —  uh. 

MILKMAID.     Ooh! 

BOY.   How  did  you  know? 

MILKMAID    I  saw  him  on  the  way  to  the  market  one  day  — 

and  when  my  mother  wasn't  looking  at  me  I  gave  him  a 

farthing. 

BOY.   Is  he  a  good  juggler? 
MILKMAID.  He's  magic !    Why,  he  can  throw  three  golden  balls 

in  the  air  and  catch  them  with  one  hand  and  then  keep 

them  floating  in  the  air  in  a  circle. 
BOY.   And  can  he  balance  a  weather-vane  on  his  nose  while  it's 

turning? 
MILKMAID.   Yes,  and  he  can  balance  an  egg  on  the  end  of  a 

long  stick  that  is  balanced  on  his  chin ! 
BOY.   Oh  —  I  wish  I  could  see  him.    [Looks  at  the  pot  to  see  if 

the  lentils  are  done. 
MILKMAID.   Come  on! 
BOY.   Well  —    [Begins  to  weaken  and  just  as  he  is  about  to  slart, 

the  Butterfly  flies  past  him  into  the  Queen's  room. 
MILKMAID.   Oh  —  what  a  lovely  butterfly ! 
BOY.   No  —  no  —  I  can't  go.    But  you  had  better  hurry. 
MILKMAID.   Well,  I'll  try  to  catch  the  butterfly  first. 
BOY.   Oh,  no,  you  mustn't  touch  that  butterfly. 
MILKMAID.   Why? 

BOY.   Because  —  because  he's  my  friend. 
MILKMAID.   Silly ! 
BOY.  He  is  a  good  friend,  and  he's  the  wisest  butterfly  in  the 

world. 

MILKMAID.   What  can  he  do? 
BOY.  He  can  almost  talk. 


Six  Who  Pass  While  the  Lentils  Bail        337 

MILKMAID.   Almost?  .  .  .  Oh,  I  know.     I'm  a  goose.      You 

want  to  play  a  trick  on  me  so  I'll  miss  the  beheading. 
BOY.   You'd  better  hurry. 
MILKMAID.   I  wish  you'd  come. 
BOY  (sadly).   I  can't.    I've  a  duty  to  perform. 
MILKMAID.   Aren't  duties  always  hard?    [Both  sigh.    She  takes 

up  her  milk-pail. 

BOY.   What  are  you  going  to  do  with  that  pail? 
MILKMAID.   I'm  going  to  stand  on  it.  ...  Good-bye.     [She 

goes  out. 
BOY.     Good-bye.     (He  watches  for  a  moment,   then  goes  to  the 

pot  and  tries  the  lentils;  then  whispers  through  door  to  the 

Queen)    The  lentils  are  getting  soft. 

[There  is  a  fumbling  in  the  passage  and  a  voice  is  heard:  Help 

the  blind!    Help  the  blind ! 

[The  Butterfly  returns  to  the  top  of  the  cupboard.     The  Blind- 
man  appears  at  the  door. 
PROLOGUE.   He's  blind,  but  he'll  show  you  how  the  blind  can 

see. 

BLINDMAN  (sniffing).   Cooking  lentils? 
BOY.   Yes. 

BLINDMAN.   Cook,  which  way  to  the  beheading? 
BOY.   Keep  straight  ahead  —  the  way  you  are  going,  old  man. 
BLINDMAN.   Don't  you  want  to  take  me  with  you? 
BOY.   I'm  not  going. 

BLINDMAN.   Not  going  to  the  beheading? 
BOY.   No,  I  have  to  cook  the  lentils. 
BLINDMAN.   Come  on  and  go  with  me  and  maybe  I'll  give  you 

a  farthing. 
BOY.   I  can't 

BLINDMAN.   Yes,  you  can.    Who  else  is  here? 
BOY  (swallowing:  it's  hard  to  fib).   No  one. 
BLINDMAN.   Can't  you  run  away?     Your  mother  won't  know 

you've  gone. 

BOY.   It's  my  duty  to  stay  here. 

BLINDMAN.   It's  your  duty  to  help  a  poor  blindman,  little  boy. 
BOY.  Are  you  stone  blind? 


338          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

BLINDMAN.    Yes. 

BOY.   Then  how  did  you  know  I  was  a  little  boy? 

BLINDMAN.   Because  you  sound  like  a  little  boy. 

BOY.   Well,  if  you're  stone  blind  why  do  you  want  to  go  to 

the  beheading? 
BLINDMAN.   I  can  see  with  my  ears. 

BOY.  Aw 

BLINDMAN.   Didn't  I  know  you  were  a  little  boy? 

BOY.  Yes,  but  you  had  to  guess  twice.    First  you  thought  I 

was  a  cook. 

BLINDMAN.   Well,  aren't  you  cooking  lentils? 
BOY.   Yes;  but  you  can  smell  them. 
BLINDMAN.   Well,  I  see  with  my  nose,  too. 
BOY.   Aw  —  how  can  you  see  with  your  nose? 
BLINDMAN.   If  you  give  me  some  bread^  I'll  show  you. 
BOY.   I  can't  give  you  any  bread,  but  I'll  give  you  some  raw 

lentils. 

BLINDMAN.   All  right.    Give  me  lentils. 
BOY.  .  .  .  I'll  put  them  by  the  pot.  —  Ready ! 
BLINDMAN.   All  right.    (Sniffs.    Walks  to  the  pot  and  gets  lentils 

and  puts  them  in  an  old  pouch)     Isn't  that  seeing  with  my 

nose? 
BOY.  H'm!    (In  wonder)    Now  see  with  your  ears  and  I'll  give 

you  some  more  lentils. 
BLINDMAN.  All  right.    Speak. 

[The  Boy  gets  behind  the  stool  and  speaks.     The  Blindman 

goes  toward  him.    The  Boy  moves  around  stealthily. 
BLINDMAN.   You're  cheating.    You've  moved. 
BOY  (jumping  up  on  the  bench).   Well,  where  am  I? 
BLINDMAN.   You're  standing  on  something. 
BOY.  How  did  you  guess  it? 
BLINDMAN.   I  didn't  guess  it.    I  know  it. 
BOY.   Why  can  1 1  do  that? 

BLINDMAN.   You  can  if  you  try;  but  it  takes  practice. 
BOY.   Can  you  see  the  door  now? 
BLINDMAN.    No.    I've  turned  around  too  many  times.    Besides, 

there  is  more  than  one  door. 


Six  Who  Pass  While  the  Lentils  Boil        339 

BOY.  Oh  —  m-m.  .  .  .  You  aren't  really  blind! 

BLTNDMAN.   Blind  people  learn  to  use  what  they  have.    Once 

I  too  could  see  with  my  eyes. 
BOY.  Just  like  me? 
BLINDMAN.   Yes.     And  then  I  didn't  take  the  trouble  to  see 

with  my  ears  and  my  nose  and  my  fingers  —  after  I  became 

blind  I  had  to  learn.  .  .  .  Why,  I  can  tell  whether  a  man 

who  passes  me  at  the  palace  gate  is  a  poor  man  or  a  noble 

or  a  merchant. 
BOY.   How  can  you  do  that? 
BLINDMAN.   By  the  sound  of  the  step. 
BOY.   Aw  —  how  can  you  do  that? 
BLINDMAN.   Shut  your  eyes  and  try  it. 
BOY.   Well,  I  know  what  you  are.    That  would  be  easy. 
BLINDMAN.   I'll  pretend  I'm  somebody  else.     [Feels  with  his 

stick;  touches  bench.    Feels  around  again. 
BOY.   Why  are  you  doing  that? 
BLINDMAN.   To  see  how  far  I  can  walk  without  bumping  into 

something. 

BOY.   Um 

BLINDMAN.   Ready? 

BOY  (hides  face  in  hands).  Yes. 

BLINDMAN.   Don't  peep.    [The  Boy  tries  hard  not  to. 

BOY.   I  won't. 

BLINDMAN.   All  ready.     (Shuffles  like  a  commoner)     Who  was 

it? 

BOY.   A  poor  man. 
BLINDMAN.   See  how  easy? 
BOY.   I  could  see  him  as  plain  as  if  I  had  my  eyes  open.  .  .  . 

Now  try  me  again 
BLINDMAN.  Ready? 
BOY.   All  right. 

[The  Blindman  seems  to  grow  in  height.     His  face  is  filled 

with  a  rare  brightness.     He  steadies  himself  a  moment  and 

then  walks  magnificently  down  the  room. 
BOY  (in  beautiful  wonder).   A  noble!    I  could  see  him. 
BLINDMAN.   All  you  have  to  do  is  try. 


340  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

BOY.   I  always  thought  it  was  terrible  to  be  blind. 

BLINDMAN.   Sometimes  it  is. 

BOY.   But  I  thought  everything  was  black. 

BLINDMAN.   It  used  to  be  until  I  taught  myself  how  to  see. 

BOY.   Why  is  it  terrible  sometimes? 

BLINDMAN.  Because  I  cannot  help  the  poor  who  need  help. 
If  I  had  money  I  could  feed  the  hungry  and  clothe  the  poor 
little  beggar  children  in  winter ! 

BOY.  Would  a  pail  of  gold  and  a  pair  of  finger  rings  help  you 
feed  the  hungry  and  clothe  the  poor  little  beggar  children 
in  winter? 

BLINDMAN.  A  pail  of  gold!  I  have  dreamed  of  what  I  might 
do  with  so  much  wealth ! 

BOY.   I  can  get  a  pail  of  gold  if  I  break  a  promise. 

BLINDMAN.   Would  you  break  a  promise? 

BOY.  .  .  .  No  —  but  —  No! 

BLINDMAN.   Of  course  you  wouldn't. 

BOY.   I  couldn't  break  a  promise  for  two  pails  of  gold. 

BLINDMAN.   Nor  twenty-two,  little  boy. 

BOY.  When  you  walked  like  a  noble  I  saw  a  beautiful  man 
behind  my  eyes  with  a  crown  of  gold. 

BLINDMAN.  If  you  broke  a  promise  for  a  pail  of  gold  and  two 
finger  rings  you  would  never  see  a  beautiful  noble  with  a 
crown  of  gold  when  you  closed  your  eyes.  .  .  . 

BOY.   Can  blind  men  see  beautiful  things  even  when  it's  rainy? 

BLINDMAN.  Blindmen  can  always  see  beautiful  things  if  they 
try.  Clouds  and  rain  are  beautiful  to  me  —  and  when  I  get 
wet  I  think  of  the  sunshine.  I  saw  sunshine  with  my  eyes 
when  I  was  a  little  boy.  Now  I  see  it  with  my  whole  body 
when  it  warms  me.  I  saw  rain  with  my  eyes  when  I  was  a 
little  boy.  Now  I  see  it  with  my  hands  when  it  falls  on 
them  —  drop  —  drop  —  drop  —  dropity  —  dropity  —  and  I 
love  it  because  it  makes  the  lentils  grow. 

BOY.  I  never  thought  of  that.  Rain  makes  me  stay  indoors, 
and  I  never  like  it  except  in  June. 

BLINDMAN.   You  don't  have  to  stay  in  for  long. 

BOY.   Can  blind  men  see  beautiful  things  in  a  beheading? 


Six  Who  Pass  While  the  Lentils  Boil        341 

BLINDMAN.   No.    But  I  must  be  there  with  the  crowd.    I  shall 

tell  stories  to  the  people  and  perhaps  they  will  give  me  food 

or  money. 

BOY.   Can't  you  stay  and  tell  me  stories? 
BLINDMAN.   No.    I  must  be  on  my  way.  ...  If  I  do  not  see 

the  beheading  I  cannot  tell  about  it  when  I  meet  someone 

who   was  not  there.      Oh,   I  shall    make  a  thrilling   tale 

of  it. 

BOY.   Tell  it  to  me  when  you  come  back. 
BLINDMAN.   If  you  give  me  some  cooked  lentils. 
BOY.   I'll  save  you  some. 
BLINDMAN.   Are  the  lentils  nearly  done? 
BOY.   Half. 
BLINDMAN.   I  must  be  on  my  way  then.  .  .  .  Good-bye. 

[Starting  to  go  in  the  wrong  direction. 
BOY.   Here's  the  door. 
BLINDMAN.   Thank  you,  little  boy.  .  .  .  Don't  forget  to  see 

with  your  ears  and  nose  and  fingers. 

[The  Blindman  goes  out. 
BOY.   I  won't. 
BLINDMAN.    Good-bye. 
BOY.   Good-bye.    (The  Boy  covers  his  eyes  and  tries  to  see  with 

his  ears  and  his  nose)    ItJs  easier  with  the  ears.    [Singing  is 

heard. 

[Enter  the  Ballad-Singer. 
SINGER.  Hello! 
BOY.   Hello! 
SINGER.   How  are  you? 
BOY.   I'm  very  well. 
SINGER.  That's  good. 
BOY.   Thank  you. 
SINGER.   Cooking? 
BOY.   Yes. 

SINGER  (coming  into  the  room).   Something  good? 
BOY.   Lentils. 
SINGER.   Give  me  some? 
BOY.   They  aren't  done. 


342  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

SINGER.   Nearly.    I  can  smell  them. 

BOY.   Do  you  like  them? 

SINGER.   When  I'm  hungry. 

BOY.   Are  you  hungry  now? 

SINGER.   I'm  always  hungry.    [They  laugh. 

BOY.   Were  you  singing? 

SINGER.   Yes. 

BOY.   Do  you  like  to  sing?  , 

SINGER.   When  I  get  something  for  my  ballads 

BOY.  Are  you  a  ballad-singer? 

SINGER.   Yes. 

BOY.   Sing  one  for  me? 

SINGER.    Give  me  some  lentils? 

BOY.   I'll  give  you  some  raw  lentils. 

SINGER.   I  want  some  of  the  cooked  ones. 

BOY.   They  aren't  done. 

SINGER.   Are  they  nearly  done? 

BOY.   More  than  half. 

SINGER.   I  like  them  that  way. 

BOY.  All  right.    Sing  me  a  ballad. 

SINGER.   Well,  give  me  the  lentils  first. 

BOY.   Oh,  no,  sing  the  ballad  first. 

SINGER.   No,  sir,  give  me  the  lentils  first 

BOY.   That  isn't  fair. 

SINGER.   Why  not?    After  I  sing  to  you  maybe  you  won't 

pay  me. 

BOY.   Yes,  I  will. 

SINGER.  Then  why  not  pay  me  first? 
BOY.   You  might  not  sing. 
SINGER  (laughing).   Yes,  I  will. 
BOY  (laughing) .   Well,  I'll  give  you  "some  lentils  at  the  end  of 

each  verse. 

SINGER.   That's  a  bargain. 
BOY.   Sing. 
SINGER  (sings  one  line). 

Six  stalwart  sons  the  miller  had 

Give  me  the  lentils. 


Six  WHO  PASS  WHILE  THE  LENTILS  BOIL 
Singer  (Sw^s)  —  "Six  stalwart  eons  the  miller  had  — " 


Six  Who  Pass  While  the  Lentils  Boil 

BOY.    Finish  that  verse. 

SINGER.   I  did  finish  it. 

BOY.   Now  that's  not  fair.    You  only  sang  a  line. 

SINGER.   Well,  a  line's  a  verse. 

BOY  (with  a  gesture  that  indicates  how  long  a  verse  ought  to  be). 

I  meant  a  whole  verse. 

SINGER  (mimicking  the  gesture).  A  line's  a  whole  verse. 
BOY.    Oh,  now,  be  fair,  I  mean  a  whole,  whole  verse. 
SINGER.   You  mean  a  stanza. 
BOY.    I  always  heard  it  called  a  verse. 
SINGER.   Well,  keep  the  bargain.     I  sang  a  verse.     Give  me 

some  lentils. 
BOY  (rising  and  taking  a  very  few  lentils  on  his  spoon).   Next 

time  I  mean  a  stanza.  .  .  .  Here  are  some  lentils. 

[The   Ballad-Singer    eyes   the   meager   portion,   cools   it   and 

eats. 

SINGER.   Stingy. 
BOY.   Isn't  that  some  lentils? 

SINGER  (laughs).   Well 

BOY.  Now  begin  again. 

SINGER.   At  the  end  of  every  stanza  a  spoonful  of  lentils. 

BOY.   I  didn't  say  a  spoonful. 

SINGER  (starts  to  go).   Very  well,  I  won't  sing  a  ballad. 

BOY.   All  right.    I'll  give  you  a  spoonful  at  the  end  of  each  — 

stanza.    [He  sits  on  the  floor  by  the  pot  of  lentils. 
SINGER  (sings). 

The  Ballad  of  the  Miller  and  His  Six  Sons 

Six  stalwart  sons  the  miller  had, 

All  brave  and  fair  to  see  — 

He  taught  them  each  a  worthy  trade  — 

And  they  grew  gallantly. 

Tara  —  da  —  da  —  da-da-da  —  da-da-da 

Tara  —  da  —  da  —  da-de  —  da-dee. 

Give  me  some  lentils. 
BOY.  Here.  .  .  .  Hurry  up. 


344  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

SINGER  (sings). 

The  first  was  John  of  the  dimpled  chin, 

And  a  fist  of  iron  had  he  — 

He  learned  to  wield  the  broadsword  well, 

And  turned  to  soldiery. 

Tara  —  da  —  da,  etc. 

BOY.   Please!    Please  don't  stop. 

SINGER.   Keep  to  the  bargain. 

BOY.   Here,  take  two  spoonfuls  and  finish  without  stopping. 

SINGER  (sings  rest  of  ballad). 

The  second  son  was  christened  Hugh, 

And  curly  locks  had  he  — 

He  learned  to  use  the  tabour  and  lute 

And  turned  to  minstrelsy. 

Tara  —  da  —  da,  etc. 

The  third  was  James  of  the  gentle  ways, 

And  speech  of  gold  had  he  — 

He  learned  his  psalms  and  learned  his  creed 

And  turned  to  simony. 

Tara  —  da  —  da,  etc. 

The  fourth  was  Dick  of  the  hazel  eye, 

And  a  steady  hand  had  he  — 

With  a  hammer  and  saw  and  a  chest  of  tools 

He  turned  to  carpentry. 

Tara  —  da  —  da,  etc. 

The  fifth  was  Ned  of  the  velvet  tread, 

And  feather  fingers  had  he  — 

He  used  his  gifts  in  a  naughty  way 

And  turned  to  burglary. 

Tara  —  da  —  da,  etc. 

The  sixth  was  Robin,  surnamed  the  Rare, 

For  always  young  was  he  — 

He  learned  the  joy  of  this  sunny  world 

And  turned  to  poetry. 

Tara  —  da  —  da,  etc. 


Six  Who  Pass  While  the  Lentils  Boil 

The  Miller  approached  three  score  and  ten, 

A  happy  man  was  he  — 

His  five  good  sons  and  the  one  who  was  bad, 

All  turned  to  gallantry. 

Tara  —  da  —  da,  etc. 

BOY.    Sing  ine  another. 

SINGER.   A  spoonful  at  the  end  of  every  stanza. 

BOY.   Don't  stop  after  you  begin. 

SINGER.   Pay  me  in  advance. 

BOY.   I  suppose  I'll  have  to.    [He  feeds  the  Ballad-Singer. 

SINGER  (sings  second  ballafy. 


The  Ballad  of  the  Three  Little  Pigs 

Two  little  pigs  were  pink  —  pink  —  pink  — 
And  one  little  pig  was  black  —  black  — 
The  three  little  pigs  were  very  good  friends, 
But  one  little  pig  was  black  —  black. 

Three  little  pigs  would  play  —  play  —  play  — 
But  one  little  pig  was  black  —  black  — 
And  three  little  pigs  would  have  a  jolly  time, 
Though  one  little  pig  was  black  —  black. 

Three  little  pigs  soon  grew  —  grew  —  grew  — 
And  one  little  pig  was  black  —  black. 
The  three  little  pigs  became  fat  hogs  — 
And  one  fat  hog  was  black  —  black. 

The  two  fat  hogs  were  pink  —  pink  —  pink  — 
And  one  fat  hog  was  black  —  black. 
The  three  fat  hogs  all  made  good  ham, 
Though  one  fat  hog  was  black  —  black. 

BOY.   Sing  me  another. 

SINGER.   I  can't.    I'm  tired. 

BOY.   Are  you  going  to  sing  those  at  the  beheading? 

SINGER.   What  beheading? 


346          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

BOY.   At  the  Queen's  beheading. 

SINGER.   Where? 

BOY.   Over  there. 

SINGER.   When? 

BOY.   To-day. 

SINGER.   I  must  be  going.     Certainly  I'll  sing  there  and  I'll 

take  up  a  collection. 
BOY.   It's  going  to  be  before  the  King's  four  clocks  strike 

twelve. 
SINGER.   It's  nearly  time  now.    If  I  can  collect  a  piece  of  gold 

I  can  buy  a  vermillion  robe  and  sing  at  the  King's  court. 
BOY.   I  could  collect  a  pail  of  gold  and  two  finger  rings  and  sit 

at  the  feet  of  the  King  if  I'd  break  a  promise. 
SINGER.   Perhaps  you  will. 
BOY.   Would  you? 
SINGER.   I'd  rather  sing  along  the  highway  all  my  life.     It  is 

better  to  dream  of  a  vermillion  robe  than  to  have  one  that 

is  not  honestly  got. 

BOY.   The  Blindman  said  something  like  that. 
SINGER.   Who  said  what? 
BOY.   The  Blindman  said  if  I  broke  a  promise  I'd  never  again 

see  a  beautiful  noble  with  a  golden  crown  when  I  closed  my 

eyes. 

SINGER.  He  was  right. 

BOY.   When  you  get  your  vermillion  robe  will  you  let  me  see  it? 
SINGER.   That  I  will.  .  .  .  Good-bye. 
BOY.   Good-bye.     (Hums  'a  snatch  of  the  ballads.     Singer  goes 

out.) 

[The  Headsman  steps  into  the  door  and  plants  his  axe  beside 

him  for  an  impressive  picture.     The  Boy  turns  and  starts  in 

terror. 

HEADSMAN.  Have  you  seen  the  Queen? 
BOY.   Sir? 

HEADSMAN.  Have  you  seen  the  Queen? 
BOY.   How  should  I,  sir?    I've  been  cooking  the  lentils. 
HEADSMAN.   She  is  here! 
BOY.   How  —  could  —  she  —  be  —  here,  sir? 


Six  Who  Pass  While  the  Lentils  Boil        347 

HEADSMAN.   Well,  if  she  isn't  here,  where  is  she? 

BOY  (relieved).   I  don't  know  where  she  is  if  she  isn't  here,  sir. 

HEADSMAN.   She  has  too  much  sense  to  hide  so  near  the  castle, 

and  on  the  short  cut  to  the  headsman's  block.  .  .  .  Do  you 

know  who  I  am? 
BOY.   I  think  so  —  sir. 
HEADSMAN.   Think?    Don't  you  know? 
BOY.   Yes,  sir. 

HEADSMAN.   Who  am  I,  then? 
BOY.   You're  the  Dreadful  Headsman. 
HEADSMAN.   I  am  the  winder  of  the  King's  four  clocks,  and 

when  I  am  needed  I  am  the  best  headsman  in  three  king- 
doms.   And  this  is  my  axe. 
BOY.   Is  it  sharp? 
HEADSMAN.   It  will  split  a  hair  in  two.    [Runs  finger  near  blade 

meaningly. 
BOY.  Oh! 

HEADSMAN.   A  hair  in  two! 

BOY.   Would  you  really  cut  off  the  Queen's  head? 
HEADSMAN.   That's  my  business:    to  cut  off  heads,  and  the 

nobler  the  head  the  better  my  business. 
BOY.   She's  such  a  nice  Queen. 
HEADSMAN.   Have  you  seen  her? 
BOY.   Y  —  es,  sir. 
HEADSMAN.   When? 

BOY.   One  day  —  when  I  was  boiling  some  lentils. 
HEADSMAN.   Did  you  see  her  neck? 
BOY.  Yes,  sir. 

HEADSMAN.   Not  much  bigger  than  a  hair. 
BOY  (desperately  friendly) .  Have  you  seen  my  knife? 
HEADSMAN  (sharply).   Fm  talking  about  the  Queen  and  I'm 

going  to  talk  about  myself  until  I  hear  the  King's  trumpeter 

calling  me  to  the  beheading. 
BOY.   Yes,  sir.    [Edging  between  the  bench  and  door  of  the  room 

where  the  Queen  is  hidden. 

HEADSMAN.    Sit  down. 

BOY.   I'd  rather  stand,  sir. 


348  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

HEADSMAN.  Sit  down!  And  I'll  tell  you  how  I'm  going  to  be- 
head the  Queen. 

BOY.  You  can  t  behead  her  after  the  King's  four  clocks  have 
struck  twelve. 

HEADSMAN.   How  did  you  know  that? 

BOY  (realizing  his  blunder) .   Well 

HEADSMAN.  Nobody  knows  that  except  the  royal  family  and 
people  of  the  Court. 

BOY.   A  little  —  bird  told  —  me. 

HEADSMAN.  Where  is  the  little  bird  that  I  may  cut  its  head 
off? 

BOY.  Don't  hurt  the  little  bird,  but  tell  me  how  you  are  going 
to  behead  the  Queen. 

HEADSMAN.  Well  —  (At  the  stool)  This  is  the  block.  There's 
the  Queen  behind  the  iron  gate  We'll  say  that  door  is  the 
gate.  (The  Boy  starts)  And  out  there  is  the  crowd.  Now, 
I  appear  like  this,  and  walk  up  the  steps.  The  crowd  cheers, 
so  I  bow  and  show  myself  and  my  axe.  (He  bows  elaborately 
and  poses)  Then  I  walk  over  to  the  gate • 

BOY.  Don't  go  in  there.  That's  my  mother's  room  and  you 
might  frighten  her. 

HEADSMAN.   Who's  in  your  mother's  room? 

BOY.   She  is. 

HEADSMAN.  Well,  if  she's  in  there,  maybe  she'd  like  to  hear 
my  story. 

BOY.   She's  in  bed. 

HEADSMAN.  Sick?  (The  Boy  nods  vigorously)  All  right.  .  .  . 
Well,  I've  bowed  to  the  crowd  and  I  start  for  the  Queen. — 
If  you  won't  open  the  door,  you  pretend  you're  the  Queen. 

BOY.   I  don't  want  to  be  the  Queen. 

HEADSMAN.  Come  on  and  pretend.  I  walk  up  to  the  gate  — 
so,  and  open  it  and  then  I  say,  "Your  Majesty,  I'm  going  to 
cut  off  your  head,"  and  she  bows  —  bow  —  (The  Boy  bows) 
And  then  I  say,  "Are  you  ready?"  and  she  says,  "I  am 
ready."  Then  I  blindfold  her 

BOY.   Now,  don't  blindfold  me,  sir! 

HEADSMAN.   I'm  showing  you  how  it's  done. 


Six  Who  Pass  While  the  Lentils  Boil        :H<) 

BOY.   But  if  you  blindfold  me  I  can't  see  you  when  you  do  it . 

HEADSMAN  (admitting  the  point).  All  right.  .  .  .  Then  I  blind- 
fold her  and  I  lead  her  to  the  block  arid  I  say,  "Have  you 
made  your  peace  with  Heaven?"  and  she  says,  "Yes."  .  .  . 

BOY.   If  you  won't  tell  me  any  more  I'll  give  you  my  knife. 

HEADSMAN.   Aren't  you  interested? 

BOY.   Yes,  but  your  axe  is  so  sharp  and  it  might  slip. 

HEADSMAN.  Sharp?  It  will  cut  a  hair  in  two,  but  I  know  how 
to  handle  it.  ...  Come  on.  ...  (The  Boy  reluctantly  falls 
into  the  picture  again)  And  then  .  .  .  (Raising  his  axe)  And 
then  .  .  .  (Headsman  sees  the  Butterfly)  And  then  .  .  . 
How-d'-ye-do,  Butterfly? 
[The  Boy  runs  to  the  pot  unnoticed  by  the  Headsman. 

BOY.   Lentils,  lentils,  boil  the  time  away, 

That  my  good  Queen  may  live  to-day. 

[The  Headsman  and  the  Butterfly  are  having  quite  a  game. 
Suddenly  the  great  clock  begins  to  strike  and  the  two  next  larger 
follow  slowly.  The  Headsman  rushes  to  the  back  door  with  his 
axe. 

HEADSMAN.   Why  doesn't  the  trumpeter  blow  his  call? 

[The  Boy  counts  the  strokes  of  the  clock  and  as  the  third  clock 
strikes  twelve  he  rushes  to  the  door  of  the  bedroom. 

BOY.   Queen!    Queen!    It's  midday. 

HEADSMAN.  Queen  —  Queen  —  (He  strides  to  the  bedroom  and 
drags  the  Queen  out)  The  little  clock  hasn't  struck  yet!  (Tic 
pulls  the  Queen  toward  the  rear  door  and  shouts)  Here !  Here ! 
Don't  let  the  little  clock  strike!  I've  won  the  pail  of  gold! 
[The  Boy  has  set  the  bench  in  the  doorway  so  that  the  Headsman 
stumbles  The  Butterfly  keeps  flying  against  the  Headsman's 
nose,  which  makes  him  sneeze. 

BOY.   No  one  heard  you ! 

QUEEN.   Let  me  go !    Let  me  go ! 

HEADSMAN  (sneezing  as  only  a  headsman  can).  The  Queen! 
The  Queen! 

[The  little  clock  begins  to  strike.  The  Boy  counts  eagerly,  one, 
two,  three,  etc.  Between  strokes  the  Headsman  sneezes  and 
shouts. 


350  A   Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

HEADSMAN.   The  Queen!    The  Queen! 

[At  the  fifth  stroke  the  Headsman  falls  on  his  knees.  The 
Queen  becomes  regal,  her  foot  on  his  neck.  The  Boy  kneels  at 
her  side. 

QUEEN.  Base  villain!  According  to  the  law  I  am  saved!  But 
you  are  doomed.  As  Winder  of  the  King's  four  clocks  the 
law  commands  that  you  be  decapitated  because  the  four 
clocks  did  not  strike  together.  Do  you  know  that  law? 

HEADSMAN.  Oh,  Lady,  I  do,  but  I  did  but  do  my  duty.  I  was 
sharpening  my  axe  this  morning  and  I  couldn't  wind  the 
clocks.  Intercede  for  me. 

QUEEN.   It  is  useless. 

BOY.   Is  there  any  other  headsman? 

QUEEN.  The  law  says  the  Chief  Headsman  must  behead  the 
chief  Winder  of  the  King's  four  clocks. 

BOY.   Can  the  Dreadful  Headsman  behead  himself? 

QUEEN.   Aye,  there's  the  difficulty. 

HEADSMAN.   Oh,  your  Majesty,  pardon  me! 

BOY.   Yes,  pardon  him. 

QUEEN.  On  one  condition:  He  is  to  give  his  axe  to  the  mu- 
seum and  devote  all  his  old  age  to  the  care  of  the  King's 
four  clocks.  .  .  .  For  myself,  I  shall  pass  a  law  requiring 
the  ladies  of  the  Court  to  wear  no  jewels.  So,  if  the  King's 
aunt  can  wear  no  rings,  she  assuredly  cannot  have  a  ring-toe, 
and  hereafter  I  may  step  where  I  please.  ...  Sir  Headsman, 
lead  the  way  .  .  .  And  now,  my  little  boy,  to  you  I  grant 
every  Friday  afternoon  an  hour's  sport  with  the  Mime,  a 
spotted  cow  for  the  little  Milkmaid,  a  cushion  and  a  canopy 
at  the  palace  gate  for  the  Blindman,  a  vermillion  cloak  for  the 
Ballad-Singer,  a  velvet  gown,  a  silken  kerchief  and  a  cloth-of- 
gold  bonnet  for  your  mother,  and  for  yourself  a  milk-white 
palfrey,  two  pails  of  gold,  two  finger  rings,  a  castle  and  a 
sword.  .  .  .  Arise,  Sir  Little  Boy.  .  .  .  Your  arm. 

BOY.   May  I  take  my  knife,  your  Majesty? 

QUEEN.  That  you  may.  (He  gets  the  knife  and  returns  to  her. 
She  lays  her  hand  on  his  arm)  Sir  Headsman,  announce  our 
coming. 


Six  Who  Pass  While  the  Lentils  Bail        351 

HEADSMAN.   Make  way  —  make  way  —  for  her  Majesty,  the 

Queen. 

QUEEN  (correcting).   And  Sir  Little  Boy. 
HEADSMAN.   What's  his  other  name,  your  Majesty? 
BOY  (whispering  with  the  wonder  of  it  all).  Davie. 
QUEEN  (to  the  Headsman).   Davie. 
HEADSMAN.   Make   way  —  make   way   for   her   Majesty,    the 

Queen,  and  Sir  Davie  Little  Boy. 

[They  go  out.    Immediately  the  Boy  returns  and  gets  the  pot  of 

lentils  and  runs  after  the  Queen  as  the  Curtains  close. 


ABOUT  MASTER  SKYLARK 

Group  dramatization  has  become  quite  a  sport  these  days; 
it  is  as  exciting  as  any  other  game  one  might  play.  For  you 
build  something  at  the  same  time  that  you  learn  something; 
you  are  somebody  at  the  same  time  that  you  get  to  know  a 
great  deal  about  that  person.  Everyone  of  us  has  read  a  book 
and  wished  himself  the  hero,  or  herself  the  heroine.  Well,  why 
not  be  —  if  the  story  is  worth  while  acting,  and  the  character 
worth  while  being? 

It  has  been  wisely  suggested  by  a  teacher  that  all  the  spirit 
of  history  is  dried  up  in  the  irksome  task  of  remembering  dates. 
What  is  the  meaning  of  1492  unless  you  can  experience  some 
of  the  feeling  which  came  over  Columbus  when  he  put  forth 
on  a  trackless  sea?  So  this  teacher,  Miss  Knox,  with  her 
associate,  Miss  Liitkenhaus,  through  practice,  have  been  con- 
vinced that  if  children  go  to  the  Museum  of  Art  and  see  the 
picture  of  Columbus  before  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  if  they 
dramatize  the  scene,  and  study  how  to  dress  the  parts  and 
write  out  for  themselves  the  dialogue  suitable  for  Monarch 
and  suppliant,  these  children  will  learn  more  about  Columbus 
than  the  history  books  aim  to  teach  in  the  early  grades;  and 
incidentally  they  will  learn  to  write  good  English,  which  they 
will  speak  intelligently  and  distinctly. 

Thus,  when  a  class  in  school  is  to  dramatize  a  story,  such 
class  is  divided  into  working  groups,  each  one  of  which  is 
responsible  for  some  feature  of  the  production  as  a  whole. 
The  trades-guilds,  in  medieval  times,  gave  miracle  plays  in  this 
way,  as  far  as  presentation  is  concerned.  WThen,  finally,  the 
play  is  done,  everyone  has  had  a  hand  in  its  creation. 

I  have  always  believed,  following  the  history  of  the  Yale 
Dramatic  Association,  of  Yale  University,  that  the  boys  who 
produced  a  Shakespeare  or  a  Sheridan  or  an  Ibsen  play  —  being 


354  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

responsible  for  its  every  detail,  as  well  as  for  the  arrangement 
of  the  "book  of  the  play"  —  knew  more  about  it  in  the  end  — 
because  of  their  active  work  in  producing  it  —  than  the  boys 
who  spent  days  in  a  minute  study  of  every  word  of  the  text. 
So  it  is,  even  in  the  early  years,  when  dramatization  is  a  game, 
—  when  this  child  is  Queen  Bess,  when  the  other  is  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  and  they  visualize  and  vitalize  the  fictitious  incident 
of  the  cloak  and  puddle  of  water. 

All  schools  and  colleges  are  playing  this  game  seriously. 
At  the  University  of  North  Dakota  and  at  the  University  of 
North  Carolina  —  both  under  the  inspiration  of  Dr.  Frederick 
Koch;  at  the  Francis  W.  Parker  School,  in  Chicago;  and  at 
Public  School  No.  15,  Borough  of  Manhattan,  New  York,  this 
cooperative  method  of  playwriting  and  producing  has  been 
used  with  great  success.  Miss  Knox  and  Miss  Liitkenhaus 
dedicate  their  volume  of  "Plays  for  School  Children"  (Cen- 
tury) in  the  following  manner: 

"  We  dedicate  this  book  to  all  children  who  love  a  good  story, 
with  this  message:  If  you  would  become  better  and  better 
acquainted  with  your  favourite  heroes  and  heroines  in  fiction 
and  history,  be  the  hero  —  act  your  part  and  act  it  well,  and 
by-and-by  you  will  find  yourself  growing  into  the  fine  qualities 
of  the  character  you  love  and  growing  out  of  the  uglinesses  of 
that  you  despise." 

In  other  words,  you  can  dramatize  Mother  Goose,  or  you  can 
be  Rosalind,  in  "As  You  Like  It",  or  you  can  learn  a  lot  about 
the  Elizabethan  Age  by  being  Master  Skylark  to  the  full  bent 
of  your  power,  and  the  full  opportunity  of  the  part. 

Read  John  Bennett's  story,  "Master  Skylark",  and  see 
whether  the  play  here  made  from  it  is  as  interesting;  compare 
this  version  with  Edgar  White  Berrill's  longer  dramatization 
of  the  same,  and  determine  whether  it  would  be  easier  for 
you  to  do  the  longer  or  the  shorter  play  —  whether  the  latter 
is  not  more  practicable  for  your  purpose. 

And,  in  the  preparations  for  your  presentation  of  "Master 
Skylark"  —  should  you  care  to  give  it  —  turn  to  the  story, 


Master  Skylark  355 

wherein  you  will  find  the  music  for  Nick's  song;  turn  to  a  good 
collection  of  college  songs  for  Ben  Jonson's  lyric  and  music; 
and  be  sure,  in  your  selection  of  the  music  for  "Hark,  hark, 
the  lark,"  that  you  choose  the  one  most  in  accord  with  the 
spirit  of  the  words. 

In  steeping  yourself  in  the  atmosphere  of  Master  Skylark's 
times,  there  are  a  number  of  excellent  books  to  read:  W.  J. 
Rolfe's  "Shakespeare  the  Boy",  Black's  "Judith  Shake- 
speare", Charles  Lamb's  "Tales  from  Shakespeare",  Mrs. 
Cowden-Clarke's  "  Girlhood  of  Shakespeare's  Heroines  ",  and 
Imogen  Clark's  "Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad." 

And  if  there  are  over-ambitious  readers  who  wish  to  go 
further  in  their  preparations,  I  would  refer  them  to  Sidney 
Lee's  "Life  of  Shakespeare",  Dowden's  "Shakespeare:  His 
Mind  and  Art  ",  and  Hamilton  Mabie's  "William  Shakespeare: 
Poet,  Dramatist  and  Man." 

Readers  of  St.  Nicholas  magazine  will  remember  other  sto- 
ries by  John  Bennett,  notably  "Barnaby  Lee."  But  I  remem- 
ber him  best  for  his  silhouette  drawings  which,  as  a  boy,  first 
fired  my  enthusiasm  for  shadow  pictures. 

As  for  "Master  Skylark"  I  would  suggest  that  time  might 
not  be  ill-spent  in  considering  the  Royal  Chapel  children  of  the 
early  days  and  the  young  men  —  mere  lads  —  who  were  ac- 
customed to  play  the  women's  roles  in  Shakespeare's  comedies, 
when  they  were  first  written. 


MASTER  SKYLARK 

A  Dramatization  of  the  Book  by  JOHN  BENNETT.     Prepared  for  the  use  of 

Elementary  Schools  in  New  York  City  by  ANNA  M.  LUTKENHAUS, 

Director  of  the  Dramatic  Club  of  Public  School 

15,  Borough  of  Manhattan. 


Characters 

MASTER  SKYLARK  (Nick  Attwood) 

MR.  ATTWOOD,  father  of  Master  Skylark 

MRS.  ATTWOOD,  mother  of  Master  Skylark 

MASTER-PLAYER  and  other  players 

WILL  SHAKESPEARE 

BEN  JONSON 

CICELY 

FRIENDS  of  Will  Shakespeare 

BOYS  of  Singing  School  in  London 

QUEEN  ELIZABETH  and  courtiers,  etc. 

Time:  1596.       Place:  Stratford-upon-Avon,   London. 
Time  required  for  production,  forty-five  minutes. 


COPYRIGHT,  1900, 1901, 1902,  1915,  BY  THE  CBNTTTRY  COMPANY 

Taken  from  "Plays  for  School  Children",  by  permission  of  the  publishers,  The  Century 
Co.,  New  York. 


MASTER  SKYLARK 

FIRST  SCENE 

Near  Attwood  Cottage)  in  Stratford.    Boys  standing,  watching 
and  listening. 

HERALD.     The  Master-Players  come  to  Stratford  Town. 
NICK  ATTWOOD.     They  're  coming,  Robin  —  hark  ye  to  the 

trampling ! 
OTHER  BOYS  (jumping  up  on  fence).    They  're  coming!  they  're 

coming!  they  're  coming! 
ANOTHER  BOY  (running  up).     Who?    Who? 

BOY.     Did  you   not  hear?    At   dawn  the  Oxford  carrier 

brought  the  news.     The  players  of  the  Lord  High  Admiral 

are  coming  to  Stratford  out  of  London,  from  the  South,  to 

play  on  May-day  here. 
BOYS.     They  're  coming! 
A  BOY  (running  before  the  Players).     There  's  a  lot  of  them  and 

oh,  the  bravest  banners  and  attire  —  and  the  trumpets  are 

a  cloth-yard  long! 
PLAYERS  (Orchestra  plays.     Singing). 

The  hunt  is  up,  the  hunt  is  up, 

Sing  merrily  we,  the  hunt  is  up! 

The  wild  birds  sing, 

The  dun  deer  spring, 

The  forest  aisles  with  music  ring! 

Tantara,  tantara,  tantara! 

Then  ride  along,  ride  along! 

[Boys  follow  around  the  stage  after  the  Players,  and  then  follow 
them  out. 


360  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

SECOND  SCENE 

HERALD.     Nick  Attwood  (Master  Skylark)  is  refused  permis- 
sion to  attend  the  play. 

[Nick  runs  in  and  stumbles. 
FATHER.     What  madcap  folly  art  thou  up  to  now? 

[Angrily. 

NICK.     I  be  up  to  no  folly  at  all. 
FATHER.     Then  be  about  thy  business! 
NICK.     I  have  been  about  my  business,  sir:  I  have  carried  out 

the  old,  foul  rushes,  and  prepared  the  room  just  as  ye  told 

me  to  do. 
MOTHER  (puts  arm  around  Nick).     Thou  art  mine  own  good 

little  son,  and  I  shall  bake  thee  a  cake  on  the  morrow  for 

thy  May-day  feast. 
NICK  (eagerly).     The  Lord  High  Admiral's  Company  is  to  act 

a  stage-play  at  the  guildhall  to-morrow  before  Master  Dave- 

nant  and  the  Mayor  and  town-burgesses. 
MOTHER.    What  will  they  play? 

NICK.     I  can  not  say  surely,  mother —  "Tamburlaine",  or  per- 
haps "The  Troublesome  Reign  of  Old  King  John."    The 

play  will  be  free,  father;  may  I  go? 
FATHER.     And  lose  thy  time  from  school? 
NICK.     There  is  no  school  to-morrow,  sir. 
FATHER.     Then  have  ye  naught  to  do,  but  waste  the  day  in 

idle  folly? 

MOTHER.     It  is  May-day,  Simon,  and  a  bit  of  pleasure  - 
FATHER.     Pleasure?     If  he  does  not  find  pleasure  in  his  work, 

his  book,  and  his  home,  he  shall  not  seek  it  of  low  rogues. 
MOTHER.     But,  Sirnon,  surely  they  are  not  all  graceless!    Since 

mine  own  cousin,  Anne  Hathaway,  married  Will  Shakespeare, 

the  play-actor,  't  is  scarcely  kind  to  call  all  players  rogues. 
FATHER.     No  more  o'  this,  Margaret !    Thou  art  ever  too  ready 

with  the  boy's  part  against  me.     He  shall  not  go  —  so  that 

is  all  there  is  about  it. 

[Goes  abruptly  out. 
NICK  (with  clenched  fist).    Mother  - 


Master  Skylark  361 

MOTHER  (softly).     Nicholas? 

NICK.     But,   mother,  surely  it  cannot  be  wrong,  when  the 

Queen 

MOTHER.    To  honour  thy  father?    Nay,  lad,  it  is  thy  bounden 

duty. 

NICK.     Mother,  are  you  an  angel  come  down  out  of  Heaven? 
MOTHER.     Nay,  I  be  only  the  everyday  mother  of  a  fierce  little 

son  who  hath  many  a  hard,  hard  lesson  to  learn. 

THIRD  SCENE 

HERALD.     Nick  runs  away  and  meets  the  Master-Player. 

ROBIN  (one  of  the  schoolboys).  Oh,  Nick,  such  goings-on! 
Stratford  Council  has  had  a  quarrel,  and  there  's  to  be  no 
stage-play  after  all. 

NICK.     What! 

ROBIN.  I  heard  my  father  talking  about  it.  They  were  not 
served  quickly  enough  at  the  inn  and  seized  the  order  of 
Sir  Thomas.  Some  drew  swords.  Sir  Edward  sprang  up 
and  said  it  was  a  shame  to  behave  so  outrageously  in  Will 
Shakespeare's  own  town,  and  Sir  Thomas  swore  that  all 
stage^players  were  rogues  and  Will  Shakespeare  neither  more 
nor  less  than  a  deer-stealing  scape-gallus ! 

NICK.     Surely  he  did  not  say  that  in  the  Stratford  Council! 

ROBIN.  Ay,  but  he  did.  And  the  Master-Player  sprang  upon 
the  table  arid  said  that  Will  Shakespeare  was  his  very  own 
true  friend  and  the  sweetest  fellow  in  all  England,  and  threw 
his  glove  in  one  of  their  faces.  Then  Sir  Thomas  refused 
them  license  to  play  here.  And  Master  John  Shakespeare, 
said  there  would  be  plenty  of  trouble  when  he  sent  word  to 
his  son  Will  and  the  Lord  High  Admiral  of  London. 

NICK.     But  where  did  they  go? 

ROBIN.  To  Coventry,  the  next  town,  —  and  left  the  Master- 
Player  behind  in  gaol.  But  this  morning  they  cooled,  and 
were  in  a  pretty  stew  for  fear  of  giving  offense  to  the  Lord 
Admiral,  —  and  so  they  gave  him  his  freedom  and  a  chain 
beside. 


362  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

NICK.     Whee-ew !  —  I  wish  I  were  a  master-player ! 

ROBIN.  He  swore  he  would  be  revenged  on  Stratford  Town, 
and  that  he  would  walk  the  whole  distance  rather  than  use 
one  of  the  horses  that  the  burgesses  sent  him. 

NICK.  Is  he  at  the  inn?  Why,  let  's  go  down  and  see 
him! 

ANOTHER  BOY.  Master  Brunswood  says  he  will  birch  whoever 
comes  late. 

NICK.     Birch?    Why,  he  does  nothing  but  birch!    A  fellow 
cannot  say  his  verbs  without  catching  it!    As  for  cases  — 
not  without  a  downright  thrashing!     I  shall  not  stand  it 
any  longer,  I  '11  run  away! 

BOY  (laughing).  And  when  the  skies  fall  we  '11  catch  sparrows. 
Whither  shall  you  run? 

NICK  (defiantly).  To  Coventry,  after  the  stage-players.  (Boys 
laugh)  You  think  I  shall  not.  Well,  I  '11  show  you. 
There  are  bluebells  blowing  in  the  dingles,  and  while 
you  are  all  grinding  at  your  old  grammar  I  shall  be 
roaming  over  the  hills.  Ay,  I  shall  be  out  where  the 
birds  can  sing  and  the  grass  is  green,  and  I  shall  see  the 
stage-play. 

ANOTHER  BOY  (mockingly) .  We  shall  have  but  bread  and  milk 
and  you  will  have  —  a  most  glorious  thrashing  from  your 
father  when  you  come  home  to-morrow  night. 

NICK.     'T  is  a  thrashing  either  way.     Father  will  thrash  me  if 
I  run  away  and  Master  Brunswood  will  thrash  me  if  I 
don't.     If  I  must  take  a  thrashing,  I  '11  have  my  good  day's 
game  out  first. 
[Starts  to  go  away. 

ROBIN  (running  after  him).  But  are  you  really  going  to  Cov- 
entry? 

NICK.  Ay,  truly,  Robin,  that  I  am.  (Runs  out.  Boys  go  off 
stage  talking  excitedly.  Nick  comes  back,  singing) 

List  to  the  skylark,  o'er  the  meadows  winging, 
Message  of  happiness  to  the  earth  't  is  bringing; 
Joy  bells  are  ringing,  caroling,  swinging, 


MASTER  SKYLARK 

Fourth  Scene 

Master-Player.  —  "  Upon  my  heart,  he  has  a  skylark  prisoned  in 
his  throat  !  Well  sung,  Master  Skylark  !  Where  did  you 
learn  that  song?'' 


Master  Skylark  363 

Vanished  is  every  sadness: 

List  to  the  skylark,  o'er  the  meadows  winging, 

Message  of  gladness  to  the  earth  't  is  bringing.1 

FOURTH  SCENE 
[Nick  singing. 

MASTER-PLAYER.  My  soul,  my  soul,  it  is  the  boy!  Upon  my 
heart,  he  has  a  skylark  prisoned  in  his  throat!  Well  sung, 
Master  Skylark!  Where  did  you  learn  that  song? 

NICK  (hat  off,  and  gazing  with  all  admiration  at  Master-Player). 
Mother  taught  me  part  and  the  rest  just  came,  I  think,  sir. 
But,  but,  ye  surely,  sir,  are  the  Master-Player! 

MASTER-PLAYER.  A  murrain  on  that  town  of  Stratford,  but 
vengeance  will  be  mine.  (Changing  voice  to  a  gentle  tone) 
Nay,  lad,  look  not  so  dashed.  That  is  only  the  mighty 
tragic  style.  Be  known  to  me,  lad;  what  is  your  name? 
I  like  your  open,  pretty  face. 

NICK.     Nick  Attwood  is  my  name,  sir. 

MASTER-PLAYER.  Nick  Attwood,  a  good  name!  And  you  are 
a  good  fellow,  and  I  love  you.  So  you  are  going  to  Cov- 
entry to  see  the  fellows  act?  Come,  I  am  going  to  join  my 
mates.  You  will  stay  with  us  and  dine  with  us? 

NICK.     Indeed,  sir,  I  shall,  and  that  right  gladly! 

MASTER-PLAYER  (laughing).  Put  on  your  cap,  we  are  but  two 
good  faring  fellows  here.  (Looks  back)  Upon  my  word 
yours  is  as  fair  a  town  as  the  heart  of  man  could  wish.  Wish? 
—  I  wish  it  were  sunken  in  the  sea! 

NICK  (sings  a  few  lines  of  song). 

MASTER-PLAYER  (Thinking  deeply.  Suddenly  slaps  thigh).  I'll 
do  it.  I  '11  do  it  if  I  dance  on  air  for  it!  I  '11  have  it  out  of 
canting  Stratford  Town.  It  is  the  very  thing.  His  eyes  are 
like  twin  holidays,  and  he  breathes  the  breath  of  Spring.  — 
Nicholas  —  Nicholas  Skylark  —  Master  Skylark  —  why  it  is 
the  very  name !  I  '11  do  it 

NICK  (timidly).     Did  you  speak  to  me,  sir? 

'  Chopin's  "  Spring  Song."    Words  by  Louia  C.  Bison.    (Adapted.)    From  the  New 
Ed.  Music  Course,  Teachers'  Edition  for  Elementary  Grades. 


364  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

MASTER-PLAYER.    Nay,  lad. 

NICK.     What  will  you  play  for  the  Mayor's  play,  sir? 

MASTER-PLAYER.  I  don't  know;  it  will  all  be  done  before  I 
come.  They  had  the  free  play  to-day  to  catch  the  pence 
of  May-day  crowd  to-morrow. 

NICK  (stopping;  eyes  filling  with  tears).  I  thought  the  free  play 
would  be  on  the  morrow  —  and  now  I  have  not  a  farthing 
to  go  in. 

MASTER-PLAYER  (laughing).  Tut,  tut,  you  silly  lad!  Am  I 
your  friend  for  nothing?  Why,  Nick,  I  love  you,  lad.  You 
shall  have  a  part  in  the  play  to-morrow;  I  shall  teach  it  to 
you. 

NICK.  What,  Master  Carew,  I  —  truly?  With  the  Lord  Ad- 
miral's Players? 

MASTER-PLAYER.  Why  surely!  and  here  is  Coventry  and  here 
are  the  other  players. 

PLAYERS  [They  shout  and  dap  at  the  sight  of  Master-Player. 

MASTER-PLAYER.  Thanks  for  these  kind  plaudits,  gentle  friends. 
I  have  returned. 

PLAYER.    Yes,  we  see  you  have. 

MASTER-PLAYER.  You  see  I  have  left  the  spoiler  spoiled.  Be 
known,  be  known  all!  Gentlemen,  my  Lord  Admiral's 
Players,  Master  Nicholas  Skylark,  the  sweetest  singer  in  all 
the  Kingdom  of  England!  (Men  laugh  and  wink  at  each 
other)  No  jest,  gentlemen.  He  has  a  sweeter  voice  than 
Cyril  Davy's,  and  he  shall  sing  at  our  play  to-morrow. 

PLAYER.     To-morrow? 

MASTER-PLAYER.  Yes,  and  I  shall  teach  him  some  lines  and 
then  (turning  to  Nick)  we  shall  teach  you  to  dance. 

NICK.     Dance? 

MASTER-PLAYER.     Like  this  —  (Dances,  with  other  Players  keep- 
ing time  with  him).     And  now  for  some  wine. 
[As  they  start  out,  Nick  stops  the  Master-Player. 

NICK.    And  to-morrow  night  I  must  walk  back  to  my  mother. 

MASTER-PLAYER.     Walk?    Nay,  Nicholas,  you  shall  ride  back 
to-morrow  to  Stratford  like  a  very  king. 
[Nick  goes  out. 


Master  Skylark  365 

A  PLAYER  (angrily).     I  shall  have  no  hand  in  this  affair,  Gat 

Carew ! 
MASTER-PLAYER.     Hold  thy  blabbing  tongue,  Heywood! 

[Exeunt. 

FIFTH  SCENE 

HERALD.     Nick's  father  hears  that  he  has  gone  with  the  players. 

MR.  ATT  WOOD.     Robin  Getley,  was  my  son  with  you  overnight? 

ROBIN.     Nay,  Master  Attwood.    Has  he  not  come  back? 

MR.  ATTWOOD.  Come  back?  From  where?  (Robin  hesitates) 
From  where?  Come,  boy! 

ANOTHER  BOY.  He  went  to  see  the  player,  sir.  He  said  he 
would  bide  with  his  uncle  overnight,  and  he  said  he  wished 
he  were  the  Master-Player. 

MR.  ATTWOOD  (very  angrily,  turns  to  a  man).  Were  you  in 
Coventry,  May-day? 

MAN.  Is  it  Nicholas  you  seek?  Why,  sir,  he  's  gone  and  got 
famous,  sir.  He  sang  there  with  the  Lord  High  Admiral's 
Players;  and  sir,  you  'd  scarce  believe  it,  but  people  went 
just  daft  to  hear  him  sing,  sir.  They  say,  he  has  gone  to 
London  with  them. 

MRS.  ATTWOOD  (running  to  meet  him).    Nicholas? 

MR.  ATTWOOD.     Never  speak  to  me  of  him  again.    He  has  gone 
his  own  wilful  way,  let  him  follow  it  to  the  end!    He  has 
gone  away  with  a  pack  of  stage-playing  rascals  and  vaga- 
bonds, whither  no  man  knoweth. 
[All  pass  out,  Mrs.  Attwood  heart-broken. 

SIXTH  SCENE 

HERALD.     Nick  is  stolen  by  the  players. 

At  the  Master-Player's  house  in  London.     Nick,  sitting,  the 
picture  of  despair,  in  a  big  chair.     Cicely,  the  Player's  daughter, 
comes  in. 
CICELY.     Boy,  boy,  where  are  your  manners?     (Nick  bows) 

Why,  boy,  you  are  a  very  pretty  fellow.     You  look  like  a 

good  boy!     Why  will  you  be  so  bad  and  break  my  father's 

heart? 


366  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

NICK  (stammering).     Break  your  father's  heart?     Prithee,  who 
is  your  father,  Mistress  Princess? 

CICELY.     Nay.     I  am  no  princess.     I  am  Cicely  Carew. 

•KICK  (clenching  his  fists).  Cicely  Carew?  Are  you  the  daughter 
of  that  wicked  man,  Gaston  Carew? 

CICELY  (passionately).  My  father  is  not  wicked !  You  shall  not 
say  that  —  I  will  not  speak  with  you  at  all. 

NICK.  I  do  not  care !  If  Master  Gaston  Carew  is  your  father, 
he  is  the  wickedest  man  in  the  world! 

CICELY  (stamping  her  foot).  Fie,  for  shame!  How  dare  you 
say  such  a  thing? 

NICK  (indignantly  and  choking  with  emotion).  He  has  stolen  me 
from  home,  and  I  shall  never  see  my  mother  any  more! 

CICELY  (coming  over  and  patting  his  head).  There,  don't  cry! 
My  father  will  send  you  home  to  your  mother,  I  know,  for 
he  is  very  kind  and  good.  Some  one  has  lied  to  you  about 
him.  Are  you  hungry?  There  is  a  pasty  and  a  cake  in  the 
buttery,  and  you  shall  have  it  if  you  will  not  cry  any  more. 
Come,  I  cannot  bear  to  see  you  cry,  —  it  makes  me  weep 
myself,  and  that  will  blear  mine  eyes,  and  father  will  feel 
badly.  Come  (holding  out  hand),  'i  is  I  should  weep,  not 
you;  for  my  mother  is  dead.  I  do  not  think  I  ever  saw  her 
that  I  know,  for  she  was  a  French  woman  who  served  a  mur- 
dered queen,  and  she  was  the  loveliest  woman  that  ever 
lived.  But  I  am  a  right  English  girl  for  all  that,  and  when 
they  shout  "God  save  the  Queen"  at  the  play,  I  do  too! 
And,  boy,  it  is  a  brave  thing  to  hear!  It  drove  the  Span- 
iards off  the  sea,  my  father  often  says. 

NICK.  Pooh!  They  cannot  beat  us  Englishmen!  Do  you 
truly  think  your  father  will  let  me  go? 

CICELY.     Of  course  he  will ;  I  cannot  see  why  you  do  hate  him  so. 

NICK.    Why,  truly,  perhaps  it  is  not  your  father  that  I  hate, 
but  only  that  he  will  not  let  me  go,  —  and  if  he  would,  per- 
haps I  'd  love  him  very  much  indeed. 
[Master-Player  has  come  softly  in. 

MASTER-PLAYER.  Good,  Nick!  thou  art  a  trump!  Come,  lad, 
your  hand.  (Holding  out  both  hands  to  Nick)  'T  is  spoken 


Master  Skylark 

like  a  gentleman.    Nay,  I  shall  kiss  you,  for  I  love  you, 

Nick,  upon  my  word,  and  on  the  remnant  of  mine  honour ! 

[Takes  Nick's  hand  and  kisses  him  on  the  forehead. 
CICELY.     Father,  have  you  forgotten  me? 
MASTER-PLAYER.     Nay,  sweetheart,  nay. 

[Places  arm  around  her. 
CICELY  (patting  his  cheek).     Father,  some  one  has  told  him 

naughty  things  about  you.     Come,  daddy,  say  they  are 

not  so. 
MASTER-PLAYER  (uneasily  coughing).    Why,  of  course  they  're 

not. 
CICELY.    There,  boy!    I  told  you  so.    Why,  daddy,  they  said 

that  you  had  stolen  him  away  from  his  own  mother,  and 

would  not  let  him  go.     You  '11  send  him  home  again,  daddy, 

will  you  not? 
MASTER-PLAYER  (nervously).     Yes,  yes,  why  to  be  sure,  —  we  '11 

send  him  anywhere  you  say,  Goldenheart,  —  but  he  is  to 

sing  for  our  good  Queen  Bess,  first. 
NICK.  But  will  you  truly  let  me  go? 
MASTER-PLAYER.  Yes,  yes.  But  stay  a  while  with  Cicely  and 

me,  —  we  shall  make  you  a  right  welcome  guest. 
CICELY  (clapping  her  hands).     Oh,  do  stay.     I  am  so  lonely. 

And  do  you  truly,  truly  sing? 
MASTER-PLAYER.     Ay,  like  a  skylark.     He  will  often  sing  for 

you. 

SEVENTH  SCENE 

HERALD.    The  other  players  object  to  Nick's  being  kept  from 

his  mother. 
A  PLAYER.     I  hear  the  "Master  Skylark"  has  twice  tried  to 

escape.    He  tried  to  reach  his  cousin  Will  Shakespeare. 
ANOTHER  PLAYER.     Carew  is  having  him  taught  at  the  school 

—  Cathedral  School  of  Music  and  Acting  —  the  precentor  is 

wild  over  him. 
MASTER  HEYWOOD.     He  told  me  he  was  to  go  home  soon. 

(Turning  to  the  Master-Player,  who  has  come  in)     Carew, 

how  can  you  have  the  heart? 


368  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

MASTER-PLAYER.     Come,  Heywood,  I  have  heard  enough  of 
this.     Will  you  please  to  mind  your  own  affairs! 
[Places  hand  on  poniard. 

HEYWOOD.  How,  quarrel  with  me,  Carew?  What  ugly  poison 
has  been  filtered  through  your  wits?  Quarrel  with  me,  who 
has  shared  your  every  trouble,  even 

MASTER-PLAYER  (sadly).     Don't,  don't,  Tom. 

HEYWOOD.     Then  how  can  you  have  the  heart? 

MASTER-PLAYER  (bitterly).  5T  is  not  the  heart,  Tom,  't  is  the 
head.  For,  Tom,  I  cannot  let  him  go.  Have  you  not  heard 
him  sing?  Why,  Tom,  it  is  worth  a  thousand  pounds.  How 
can  I  let  him  go? 

HEYWOOD.     Oh,  fie,  for  shame  upon  the  man  I  took  thee  for! 

MASTER-PLAYER.     But,  Tom,  look  it  straightly  in  the  face,  — 
I  am  no  such  player  as  I  was.     This  reckless  life  has  done 
the  trick  for  me,  —  and  there's  Cicely  too,  and  I  shall  be 
gone.     Nay,  no  more  of  it,  I  cannot  let  him  go! 
[All  pass  out. 

EIGHTH  SCENE 

HERALD.     Nick,  and  a  few  boys  from  the  Cathedral  School, 

sing  before  Queen  Elizabeth. 
A  BOY.     Ho,  boy!     Master  Skylark!     Nick,  the  news,  the  news! 

Have  you  heard  the  news?    (Other  Boys,  pushing  and  talking) 

We  are  going  to  Court !    Hurrah !    Hurrah !    The  Queen  has 

sent  for  us.     You  are  to  sing. 
NICK.     The  Queen  —  has  sent  for  us? 
ALL.     Ay,  sent  for  us  to  come  to  Court !    Hurrah  for  Queen 

Bess! 

[Run  out  shouting. 

[Orchestra    plays.     Trumpets    blow.     Queen    Elizabeth    and 

Courtiers  pass  in.     The  Queen  gives  signal  for  the  children 

to  come  forward. 
PROMPTER.     Rafe  Fullerton. 
RAFE.     It  is  a  masque  of  Summer-time  and  Spring,  wherein  both 

claim  to  be  best  loved.     They  have  their  say  of  wit  and 

humour,  and  each  her  part  of  songs  and  dances  suited  to  her 


Master  Skylark  369 

time,  the  sprightly  galliard  and  the  nimble  jig  for  Spring,, 
the  slow  pavone,  the  stately  peacock  dance,  for  Summer-time. 
And  win  who  may,  fair  Summer-time  or  merry  Spring,  the 
winner  is  but  that  beside  our  Queen !     (Snapping  his  fingers) 
God  save  Queen  Bess! 
[Court  laughs  and  claps. 

NICK  AND  COLLEY  (With  a  garland  of  flowers  about  them.  They 
sing  a  Spring  Song). 

NICK  (sings  Skylark  song). 

QUEEN.  It  is  a  good  song,  there  are  no  songs  like  the  English 
songs  —  there  is  no  spring  like  an  English  spring  —  there  is 
no  land  like  England,  my  England!  I  will  speak  with  these 
lads.  (Boys  kneel  before  Queen.  Touching  their  shoulders) 
Stand,  dear  lads,  be  lifted  up  by  your  own  singing,  as  our 
hearts  have  been  lifted  by  your  song.  And  name  me  the 
price  of  that  same  song;  'twas  sweeter  than  the  sweetest 
song  we  ever  heard  before.  (Touching  Colley  on  the  cheek) 
Come,  what  will  you  have  of  me,  fair  one? 

COLLEY.  That  I  may  stay  in  the  palace  forever  and  sing  for 
your  Majesty. 

QUEEN.  Now,  that  is  right  prettily  asked.  You  shall  indeed 
stay  for  a  singing-page  in  our  household,  —  a  voice  and  a 
face  like  yours  are  merry  things  upon  a  rainy  Monday.  And 
you,  Master  Lark,  you  that  come  up  out  of  the  field  with  a 
song  like  those  the  angels  sing,  what  will  you  have,  that 
you  may  sing  in  our  choir  and  play  on  the  lute  for  us? 

NICK.     That  I  may  go  to  my  mother.     Let  me  go  home. 

QUEEN.     Surely,  boy,  this  is  an  ill-considered  speech,  or  else 
this  home  of  yours  must  be  a  very  famous  place. 
[Court  laughs,  which  makes  Nick  angry. 

NICK.     I  would  rather  be  there  than  here. 

QUEEN.  You  are  more  curt  than  courteous.  Is  it  not  good 
enough  for  you  here? 

NICK.     I  could  not  live  in  such  a  place. 

QUEEN.  In  such  a  place?  These  others  find  no  fault  with  the 
life. 

NICK.     Then  they  be  born  to  it,  or  they  could  not  abide  it,  — 


370  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

no  more  than  I;  they  would  not  fit.  (Court  laughs)  I  could 
not  sleep  in  the  bed  last  night  —  it  was  a  very  good  bed,  your 
Majesty  —  but  the  mattress  puffed  up  like  a  cloud  in  a  bag, 
and  almost  smothered  me,  and  it  was  so  hot  that  it  gave  me 
a  fever. 

QUEEN  (laughing).  Upon  my  word  it  is  an  odd  skylark  that 
cannot  sleep  in  feathers.  But  there  are  acres  to  spare  — 
you  shall  have  your  pick;  come,  we  are  ill-used  to  begging 
people  to  be  favoured  —  you  '11  stay? 

NICK  (shakes  his  head). 

QUEEN.  It  is  a  queer  fancy  makes  a  face  at  such  pleasant 
dwelling!  What  is  it  sticks  in  your  throat?  (Taps  with  her 
fan)  You  are  bedazzled.  Think  twice.  Consider  well. 
Come,  will  you  accept?  (Nick  shakes  his  head  .  .  .  An- 
grily) Go  then.  (Pulls  Colley  toward  her)  Your  comrade 
has  more  wit! 

NICK.  He  has  no  mother.  I  should  rather  have  my  mother 
than  his  wit. 

QUEEN  (softly).  You  are  no  fool,  or  if  you  are  I  like  the  breed. 
It  is  a  stubborn  froward  dog,  but  Hold-fast  is  his  name. 
Ay,  sirs  (looking  at  Court),  Brag  is  a  good  dog,  but  Hold-fast 
is  better.  A  lad  who  loves  his  mother  thus  makes  a  man 
who  loves  his  native  land,  —  and  it 's  no  bad  streak  in  the 
blood.  Master  Skylark,  you  shall  have  your  wish;  to  your 
home  you  shall  go  this  very  night.  You  may  kiss  my  hand. 
[Music  and  horn  while  Queen  and  Court,  followed  by  children, 
pass  out. 

NINTH  SCENE 

HERALD.  After  the  Master-Player  is  sent  to  prison  for  killing 
a  man,  Nick  and  Cicely  come  back  to  Stratford  Town. 

CICELY.     Nick,  what  is  that? 

NICK.     A  bird. 

CICELY.  A  truly  bird!  0,  Nick,  when  will  my  father  come? 
It  seems  so  long  since  those  men  came  and  took  him  away, 
and  they  would  not  let  me  go  to  him.  And  then  you  told 
me  your  cousin,  Will  Shakespeare,  had  seen  you  and  prom- 


Master  Skylark  371 

ised  to  take  you  home.  Then  we  ran  away  together,  because 
that  bad  man,  who  hated  my  father,  tried  to  take  me;  and 
are  we  near  Stratford,  Nick? 

NICK.  Here  is  a  chance  to  stay  for  the  night,  and  to-morrow 
we  shall  be  in  Stratford.  Good  e'en,  good  folk.  We  need 
somewhat  to  eat  and  we  want  a  place  to  sleep.  The  beds 
must  be  right  clean  —  we  have  good  appetites.  If  you  can 
do  for  us,  we  will  dance  anything  you  may  desire  —  the 
Queen's  own  measure,  the  new  Allemande.  Which  does  it 
please  you,  mistresses? 

ONE  OF  THE  WOMEN.  La,  Joan,  he  calls  you  mistress!  Speak 
up. 

NICK.  Or  if  you  will,  the  little  maid  shall  dance  the  coranto 
for  you,  straight  from  my  Lord  Chancellor's  dancing-master. 

ANOTHER  WOMAN.  Why,  hark  ye  —  they  do  look  cleanlike! 
I  '11  do  for  them  to-night,  so  now,  dears,  now  let 's  see  the 
Lord  Chancellor's  tantrums. 

NICK.     'T  is  not  tantrums,  goody,  but  a  coranto. 

WOMAN.     La!  young  master. 

NICK.    Now,  Cicely. 

[Cicely  dances.     Nick  hums  and  snaps  fingers  for  time. 

WOMAN.  La  me!  she  does  not  even  touch  the  ground.  (Turn- 
ing toward  large  stout  girl)  Doll,  why  can't  you  do  that? 
[Others  laugh. 

DOLL.     Tut,  I  have  no  wings  in  my  feet. 

CICELY  (running  to  Nick).     Was  it  all  right? 

NICK.  Right?  It  was  better  than  you  ever  did.  See,  they 
are  motioning  to  us  to  come  in. 

TENTH  SCENE 

HERALD.  Nick's  father  refuses  to  receive  him  until  Will  Shake- 
speare intercedes.  At  last  Nick  gets  back  to  his  mother. 

NICK.  See,  there  is  the  smoke  from  our  house.  It  is  my 
father,  Cicely  (Laughs)  Father!  Father! 

MR.  ATT  WOOD.     Are  you  calling  me? 

NICK,     Why,  Father,  do  you  not  know  me?    'T  is  I  —  Jt  is 


372          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

Nick  —  come  home!  (Father  turns  back  and  walks  away) 
Why,  Father,  what!  see,  it  is  I,  Nick,  thy  son! 

MR.  ATTWOOD.     I  do  not  know  you,  boy;  you  cannot  enter  here. 

NICK.     Why,  Father,  I've  come  home! 

MR.  ATTWOOD.  Have  I  not  told  you  twice  I  do  not  know  you! 
You  have  no  part  or  parcel  here.  Get  out  of  my  sight. 

NICK.     O  Father,  Father! 

MR.  ATTWOOD.  Do  not  "father"  me  more,  I  am  no  father  to 
stage-playing  vagabond  rogues.  And  be  gone,  I  say.  Do 
you  hear?  (Raises  hand)  Must  I  e'en  thrust  you  forth? 

CICELY.     O,  Nick,  come  away;  the  wicked,  wicked  man! 

NICK.     It  is  my  father,  Cicely. 

CICELY.  And  you  do  hate  my  father  so !  Come,  let  us  go  back ; 
my  father  will  not  turn  us  out.  Look,  there  is  Susan  Shake- 
speare ! 

SUSAN  SHAKESPEARE  (comes  running  up).  My  father  has  been 
hunting  you  all  the  way  from  London  Town ! 

WILL  SHAKESPEARE.  You  young  rogue,  how  you  have  fore- 
stalled us.  Why,  here  we  have  been  weeping  for  you  as 
lost,  strayed,  or  stolen,  and  all  the  time  you  were  nestling 
in  the  bosom  of  your  own  sweet  home.  How  is  the  beloved 
little  mother? 

NICK  (f alter ingly).  I  have  not  seen  my  mother.  Father  will 
not  let  me  in. 

WILL  SHAKESPEARE.      What?      How? 

NICK.  My  father  will  not  have  me  any  more,  sir  —  said  I  will 
never  be  his  son  again.  Oh,  Master  Shakespeare,  why  did 
they  steal  me  from  home? 

WILL  SHAKESPEARE.  Why,  this  is  a  sorry  tale !  Does  the  man 
know  that  you  were  stolen,  that  you  were  kept  against 
your  will,  that  you  have  trudged  half-way  from  London  for 
your  mother's  sake? 

NICK.  He  will  not  let  me  tell  him,  sir.  He  would  not  listen 
to  me! 

BEN  JONSON.  The  muckle  shrew !  Why,  I  '11  have  this  out 
with  him.  By  Jupiter,  I  '11  read  him  reason  with  a  ven- 
geance! 


Master  Skylark  373 

WILL  SHAKESPEARE.  Nay,  Ben,  cool  thy  blood,  —  a  quarrel 
will  not  serve.  This  tanner  is  a  bitter-minded,  heavy- 
handed  man;  he  'd  only  throw  you  into  a  pickling- vat. 
The  children  must  be  thought  about. 

ONE  OF  THE  MEN.  Here  's  a  player's  daughter  who  has  no 
father,  and  a  player  whose  father  will  not  have  him,  or- 
phaned by  fate  and  disinherited  by  folly,  common  stock  to 
us  all.  Kind  hearts  are  trumps,  my  honest  Ben;  make  it  a 
stock  company,  and  let  us  all  be  in  it. 

ANOTHER  MAN.  Will,  the  lad  would  make  a  better  "Rosalind" 
than  Roger  Prynne  for  your  new  play. 

WILL  SHAKESPEARE.  So  he  would,  but  before  we  put  him  into 
"As  You  Like  It,"  —  suppose  we  ask  him  how  he  does  like  it. 
Now,  Nick,  you  have  heard  what  these  gentlemen  have  said, 
what  have  you  to  say,  my  lad? 

NICK.  Why,  sirs,  you  are  all  kind,  very,  very  kind  indeed, 
sirs,  but  I  —  I  —  want  my  mother  —  oh,  masters,  I  do  want 
my  mother! 

[One  of  the  men  turns  abruptly  and  walks  out;  he  comes  back 
with  Nick's  father. 

WILL  SHAKESPEARE.     Sing  your  last  song,  Ben. 
[Sits  down  and  draws  Nick  to  him. 

BEN  JONSON.     [Sings  "Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes." 

MR.  ATTWOOD.  My  son,  my  only  son!  Master  Will  Shake- 
speare, I  Ve  come  about  a  matter. 

WILL  SHAKESPEARE.  Out  with  it,  sir;  there  is  much  here  to 
be  said.  Come,  say  what  you  have  to  say. 

MR.  ATTWOOD.  There  's  naught  I  can  say,  but  that  I  be  sorry 
and  want  my  son!  Nick!  Nick!  I  be  wrung  for  you!  Will 
you  not  come  home  —  just  for  your  mother's  sake,  if  you 
will  not  come  for  mine? 

NICK  (joyfully).     Father!  —  but  Cicely? 

MR.  ATTWOOD.  Bring  the  lass  with  you,  Nick;  we  '11  make  out, 
lad,  we  '11  make  out.  God  will  not  let  it  all  go  wrong.  Will 
you  come,  lad? 

NICK.     O  Father,  mother  will  be  glad  to  have  Cicely,  won't  she? 

WILL  SHAKESPEARE  (carrying  two  bags).     I  have  a  little  story 


374  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

to  tell  you  all.  When  Gaston  Carew,  lately  Master-Player 
to  the  Lord  High  Admiral's  Company,  was  arraigned  before 
my  Lord  Justice  for  the  killing  of  that  rascal,  he  sent  for 
some 

BEN  JONSON.     One  you  mean. 

WILL  SHAKESPEARE.  He  left  these  two  bags  of  gold,  one  marked 
for  my  only  beloved  daughter,  Cicely  Carew,  with  my  love 
forever;  and  the  other  marked:  Nicholas  Attwood,  alias 
Master  Skylark,  whom  I,  Gaston  Carew,  Master-Player,  stole 
away  from  Stratford  Town,  Anno  Domini,  1596.  —  He  also 
begged  that  Nicholas  Attwood  would  forgive  him. 

NICK.  Why,  that  I  shall;  he  was  wondrous  kind  to  me,  except 
that  he  would  not  let  me  go. 

WILL  SHAKESPEARE.  These  funds,  Attwood,  will  keep  you 
easy-minded.  Now  I  need  a  tenant  for  this  new  place  of 
mine.  You  have  always  been  spoken  of  as  an  honest  man. 
What  say  you,  Simon  Attwood? 

MR.  ATTWOOD.     Why,  sir,  why,  sirs,  all  of  you,  I  have  been  a 
hard  man,  and  somewhat  of  a  fool.     Ay,  sirs,  a  very  fool! 
God  knows  I  'm  sorry  for  it  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 
[Buries  head  in  arms. 

WILL  SHAKESPEARE.  Nay,  Simon  Attwood,  you  have  only 
been  mistaken.  Come,  sit  up  and  eat  with  us.  Come, 
neighbour. 

MR.  ATTWOOD.  Nay,  I  shall  go  home.  I  thank  you,  sirs.  You 
have  been  good  to  my  boy.  There  are  kind  hearts  in  the 
world  that  I  had  not  dreamed  of.  I  shall  go  home  to  my 
wife.  There  be  things  to  say  before  the  boy  comes  home, 
and  I  have  muckle  need  to  tell  her  that  I  love  her,  —  I  have 
not  done  so  these  many  years. 

BEN  JONSON.  Why,  Neighbour  Tanner,  you  are  a  right  good 
fellow.  A  toast,  all:  "Here  's  to  all  kind  hearts!" 

WILL  SHAKESPEARE.     Wherever  they  may  be ! 

[Attwood  goes  off  the  stage  and  instantly  returns  with  wife. 

MR.  ATTWOOD.     Margaret. 

MRS.  ATTWOOD.     Simon,  what  is  it? 

MR.  ATTWOOD.     Naught,  Margaret;  —  but  you  have  been  a 


Master  Skylark  375 

good  wife;   our  lad  is  coming  home;   and  I  love  you,  —  is 

it  too  late  to  tell  you? 
MRS.  ATTWOOD.     Nay,  Simon,  never  too  late  to  mend,  —  but  our 

boy?     (Nick  runs  across  the  stage,  follow  3d  by  the  men.  .  .  . 

Holding  him  to  her  heart)     My  boy! 
NICK.     Mother,  Mother  dear,  I  have  been  to  London  Town; 

I  have  been  to  the  palace;    and  I  have  seen  the  Queen; 

but  Mother,  I  have  never  been  to  the  place  where  I  should 

rather  be  than  just  where  you  are,  Mother  dear. 

[Tableau:  Father  puts  an  arm  around  Cicely. 

THE  END 


ABOUT  ALICE  IN  WONDERLAND 

I  could  wish  young  readers  no  better  time  than  an  afternoon 
with  five  books:  S.  D.  Collingwood's  "Life  and  Letters  of 
Lewis  Carroll"  (Century),  Belle  Moses's  "Lewis  Carroll" 
(Appleton),  a  good  edition  of  "  Alice  in  Wonderland  ",  and  the 
play  which  Miss  Gerstenberg  has  made  from  the  immortal 
nonsense  stories  of  "Alice  in  Wonderland"  and  "Through  the 
Looking-Glass."  Others  have  tried  to  write  stories  just  as 
whimsical,  but  they  have  not  succeeded  because,  first,  they 
did  not  have  the  requisite  genius,  but  principally  because  they 
were  not  Lewis  Carroll. 

There  are  two  things  hardly  believable  in  the  case  of  Lewis 
Carroll,  whose  real  name  was  Charles  Lutwidge  Dodgson:  that 
he  was  a  man  of  holy  orders,  and  that  he  had  a  wide  reputa- 
tion as  a  mathematician  and  lecturer  at  Oxford,  besides  writ- 
ing profound  books  on  Algebra,  Geometry,  Trigonometry,  and 
Euclid  in  particular.  When  "Alice"  was  published,  the  public 
could  not  reconcile  these  two  sides  to  Lewis  Carroll's  nature. 
It  took  the  children  to  see  in  the  shy,  almost  precise  "don" 
of  the  University,  who  stammered  slightly,  the  fun  lover  that 
he  was,  who  could  tell  tales  just  as  he  wrote  them,  and  whose 
letters  to  his  young  friends  are  full  of  quaint  conceits,  whole- 
some truths  and  enjoyable  nonsense. 

If  you  will  read  the  biographies  I  have  mentioned  you  will 
discover  how  "Alice  in  Wonderland"  was  born  in  a  boat  one 
midsummer  day,  on  the  Thames  River,  when  the  real  Alice 
Liddell  started  Lewis  Carroll  on  the  road  toward  fame  and 
fortune  farthest  away  from  mathematics.  If  you  will  read  fur- 
ther, you  will  find  that  one  of  Lewis  Carroll's  dearest  friends 
was  little  Isa  Bowman,  who  played  Alice  in  the  Royal  Globe 
Theater's  performance  (London,  December,  1888)  of  a  musical 
dream  play,  founded  on  the  "Alice"  books,  by  H.  Savile  Clark, 


378          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

with  music  by  Walter  Slaughter.  It  had  been  previously  given 
at  the  Prince  of  Wales's  Theater,  December,  1886,  and  Mr. 
Dodgson  had  written  a  song  for  it  to  be  sung  by  the  Ghosts  of 
the  Oysters,  and  had  also  concocted  ""Pis  the  Voice  of  the 
Lobster." 

And  the  interesting  thing  about  Lewis  Carroll  is  that  the 
more  friends  he  made,  the  more  pictures  he  took  of  them  —  of 
the  Liddell  children,  of  Eily  Macdonald  —  whose  father,  George 
Macdonald,  wrote  the  ever  refreshing  story  for  boys  and  girls, 
called  "At  the  Back  of  the  North  Wind  ",  and  others.  When 
the  camera  was  just  coming  into  use,  Mr.  Dodgson  was  accus- 
tomed to  have  everyone  "sit"  for  him.  His  friends  Alfred 
Tennyson,  John  Ruskin,  Charlotte  M.  Yonge,  John  Millais  — 
the  painter,  John  Tenniel  —  who  won  as  much  fame  out  of 
illustrating  "Alice"  as  Lewis  Carroll  did  from  writing  the 
stories,  Ellen  and  Kate  Terry  —  all  of  these  famous  people 
faced  the  lens  of  Mr.  Dodgson's  camera. 

He  had  no  children  of  his  own,  and  hence  he  had  all  the  more 
love  to  expend  on  other  people's;  his  affection  went  out  to  all 
little  girls,  and,  while  it  was  not  possible  for  Lewis  Carroll  to 
be  unresponsive  to  anyone  who  was  young,  he  was  not  natural 
with  little  boys.  But  still,  though  "Alice  in  Wonderland"  is 
a  story  about  a  heroine  only,  both  girls  and  boys  love  it.  Which 
only  goes  to  show  that  imagination  has  nothing  to  do  with  dis- 
crimination between  dresses  and  roundabouts. 

I  would  have  been  sorely  disappointed  had  Miss  Gersten- 
berg's  Christian  name  been  any  other  than  Alice.  Alice  was 
the  inspiration  for  the  story,  and  the  name  Alice  should  always 
be  kept  in  the  Lewis  Carroll  family,  as  far  as  possible.  Not 
only  that,  but  whenever  an  "Alice"  play  is  given,  the  costume 
designs  ought  to  be  based  on  the  Tenniel  pictures,  as  they  were 
when  Isa  Bowman  was  the  Alice,  and  later  when  Vivian  Tobin 
was  the  Alice  in  America.  For  only  Tenniel  could  have  fath- 
omed the  natural  history  of  the  Dormouse  and  the  March 
Hare,  of  the  White  Rabbit  and  the  Cheshire  Cat,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  the  Mock  Turtle  and  the  Gryphon,  —  just  as  he  irresis- 
tibly pictured  the  physiognomy  of  the  Water  Baby  for  Charles 


Alice  in  Wonderland  379 

Kingsley's  classic.     "Alice  in  Wonderland"  is  an  unusual  nat- 
ural history  book. 

There  is  another  dramatization  of  "Alice  in  Wonderland"  by 
Maud  I.  Findlay  (London,  1919),  and  Miss  Liitkenhaus  in- 
cludes a  version  of  "Through  the  Looking-Glass "  in  her  "Plays 
for  School  Children"  (Century).  But  somehow,  in  offering  a 
play  by  a  Chicago  dramatist,  who  was  educated  at  Bryn  Mawr, 
and  who  has  met  success  in  the  American  theater  with  several 
distinctive  one-act  plays,  I  feel  that,  in  her  own  love  for  Lewis 
Carroll,  she  is  but  representing  a  vast  horde  of  Alice  lovers  in 
America. 


ALICE  IN  WONDERLAND 

A  DRAMATIZATION  OF  LEWIS  CARROLL'S  "ALICE'S 

ADVENTURES  IN  WONDERLAND"  AND 

"THROUGH  THE  LOOKING-GLASS" 


BY  ALICE  GERSTENBERG 


COPYRIGHT,  1915,  BT  A.  C.  McCLrrao  &  Co. 

No  performance  of  this  play,  professional  or  amateur,  can  be  made  without  obtaining 
permission  from  the  author,  Alice  Gerstenberg,  539  Deming  Place,  Chicago,  111. 


To  the  Memory  of 
LEWIS  CARROLL 


This  dramatic  rendering  of  "Alice  in  Wonderland"  was 
produced  by  The  Players  Producing  Company  of  Chicago 
(Aline  Barnsdall  and  Arthur  Bissell),  at  the  Fine  Arts  Theater, 
Chicago,  February  11,  1915.  After  a  successful  run  it  opened 
at  the  Booth  Theater,  New  York,  March  23,  1915. 

The  scenery  and  the  costumes  were  designed  by  William  Pen- 
hallow  Henderson  of  Chicago. 

The  music  was  written  by  Eric  De  Lamarter  of  Chicago. 

W.  H.  Gilmore  staged  the  play  with  the  following  cast: 

LEWIS  CARROLL Frank  Stirling 

ALICE Vivian  Tobin 

RED  QUEEN Florence  LeClercq 

WHITE  QUEEN  .     .    . Mary  Servoss 

WHITE  RABBIT       Donald  Gallaher 

HUMPTY  DUMPTY Alfred  Donohoe 

GRYPHON Fred  W.  Permain 

MOCK  TURTLE Geoffrey  Stein 

MAD  HATTER Geoffrey  Stein 

MARCH  HARE Fred  W.  Permain 

DORMOUSE J.  Gunnis  Davis 

FROG  FOOTMAN Walter  Kingsford 

DUCHESS Kenyon  Bishop 

CHESHIRE  CAT Alfred  Donohoe 

KING  OF  HEARTS Frederick  Annerly 

QUEEN  OF  HEARTS Winifred  Hanley 

KNAVE  OF  HEARTS Foxhall  Daingerfield 

CATERPILLAR Walter  Kingsford 

Two  OF  SPADES Rule  Pyott 

FIVE  OF  SPADES France  Bendtsen 

SEVEN  OF  SPADES John  A.  Rice 


THE  SCENES 
ACT  I 

SCENE      I  —  Alice's  Home. 

SCENE    II  —  The  Room  in  the  Looking-Glass. 

SCENE  III  —  The  Hall  with  Doors. 

SCENE  IV  — -  The  Sea  Shore 

ACT  II 

SCENE  —  The  March  Hare's  Garden. 

ACT  III 

SCENE      I  —  The  Garden  of  Flowers. 
SCENE    II  —  The  Court  of  Hearts. 
SCENE  III  —  Alice's  Home. 

The  play  calls  for  costumes  after  the  illustrations  of  John 
Tenniel,  and  scenery  of  the  simple  imaginative  type,  the  "new 
art"  in  the  theater. 


ALICE  IN  WONDERLAND 
ACT  I 

SCENE  I 

Alice's  home.  Lewis  Carroll  is  discovered,  playing  chess. 
Golden-haired  Alice,  in  a  little  blue  dress,  a  black  kitten  in  her 
arms,  stands  watching  him. 

ALICE.     That's   a   funny  game,   Uncle.      What   did   you  do 

then? 
CARROLL.     A  red  pawn  took  a  white  pawn;    this  way.     You 

see,  Alice,  the  chess-board  is  divided  into  sixty-four  squares, 

red  and  white,  and  the  white  army  tries  to  win  and  the  red 

army  tries  to  win.     It's  like  a  battle: 
ALICE.     With  soldiers? 

CARROLL.     Yes,  here  are  the  Kings  and  Queens  they  are  fight- 
ing for.     That's  the  Red  Queen  and  here's  the  White  Queen. 
ALICE.     How  funny  they  look! 
CARROLL.     See  the  crowns  on  their  heads,  and  look  at  their 

big  feet. 
ALICE.     It's  a  foot  apiece,  that's  what  it  is!     Do  they  hump 

along  like  this? 
CARROLL.     Here!    You're   spoiling  the  game.     I   must  keep 

them  all  in  their  right  squares. 
ALICE.     I  want  to  be  a  Queen! 
CARROLL.     Here  you  are  (he  points  to  a  small  white  pawn),  here 

you  are  in  your  little  stiff  skirt! 
ALICE.     How  do  you  do,  Alice! 
CARROLL.     And  now  you  are  going  to  move  here. 
ALICE.     Let  me  move  myself. 
CARROLL.     When  you  have  travelled  all  along  the  board  this 

way  and  haven't  been  taken  by  the  enemy  you  may  be  a 

Queen. 


388  A   Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

ALICE.  Why  do  people  always  play  with  Kings  and  Queens? 
Mother  has  them  in  her  playing  cards  too.  Look!  (Alice 
goes  to  the  mantel  and  takes  a  pack  of  playing  cards  from  the 
ledge)  Here's  the  King  of  Hearts  and  here's  his  wife;  she's 
the  Queen  of  Hearts  —  isn't  she  cross-looking?  wants  to  bite 
one's  head  off.  (Carroll  moves  a  pawn)  You're  playing 
against  yourself,  aren't  you? 

CARROLL.  That's  one  way  of  keeping  in  practice,  Alice;  I 
have  friends  in  the  University  who  want  to  beat  me. 

ALICE.  But  if  you  play  against  yourself  I  should  think  you'd 
want  to  cheat! 

CARROLL.  Does  a  nice  little  girl  like  you  cheat  when  she  plays 
against  herself? 

ALICE.  Oh!  I  never  do!  I'd  scold  myself  hard.  I  always  pre- 
tend I'm  two  people  too.  It's  lots  of  fun,  isn't  it?  Some- 
times when  I'm  all  alone  I  walk  up  to  the  looking-glass  and 
talk  to  the  other  Alice.  She's  so  silly,  that  Alice;  she  can't 
do  anything  by  herself.  She  just  mocks  me  all  the  time. 
When  I  laugh,  she  laughs;  when  I  point  my  ringer  at  her, 
she  points  her  finger  at  me ;  and  when  I  stick  my  tongue  out 
at  her  she  sticks  her  tongue  out  at  me!  Kitty  has  a  twin 
too,  haven't  you  darling? 
[Alice  goes  to  the  mirror  to  show  Kitty  her  twin. 

CARROLL.  I'll  have  to  write  a  book  some  day  about  Alice  — 
Alice  in  wonderland,  "Child  of  the  pure  unclouded  brow  and 
dreaming  eyes  of  wonder ! "  or,  Alice  through  the  looking-glass ! 

ALICE.  Don't  you  wish  sometimes  you  could  go  into  looking- 
glass  house?  See!  (Alice  stands  on  an  armchair  and  looks 
into  the  mirror)  There's  the  room  you  can  see  through  the 
glass;  it's  just  the  same  as  our  living-room  here,  only  the 
things  go  the  other  way.  I  can  see  all  of  it  —  all  but  the 
bit  just  behind  the  fireplace.  Oh !  I  do  wish  I  could  see  that 
bit!  I  want  so  much  to  know  if  they've  a  fire  there.  You 
never  can  tell,  you  know,  unless  our  fire  smokes.  Then 
smoke  comes  up  in  that  room  too  —  but  that  may  be  just 
to  make  it  look  as  if  they  had  a  fire  —  just  to  pretend  they 
had.  The  books  are  something  like  our  books,  only  the 


Alice  in  Wonderland  389 

words  go  the  wrong  way.     Won't  there  ever  be  any  way  of 

our  getting  through,  Uncle? 
CARROLL.     Do  you  think  Kitty  would  find  looking-glass  milk 

digestible? 
ALICE.     It  doesn't  sound  awful  good,  does  it;  but  I  might  leave 

her  at  home.     She's  been  into  an  awful  lot  of  mischief  to-day. 

She  found  sister's  knitting  and  chased  the  ball  all  over  the 

garden  where  sister  was  playing  croquet  with  the  neighbours. 

And  I  ran  and  ran  after  the  naughty  little  thing  until  I  was 

all  out  of  breath  and  so  tired!     I  am  tired. 

[She  yawns  and  makes  herself  comfortable  in  the  armchair. 
CARROLL  (replaces  the  playing  cards  on  the  mantel  and  consults 

his  watch).     Take  a  nap.     Yes,  you  have  time  before  tea. 
ALICE  (half  asleep).     We're  going  to  have  mock-turtle  soup  for 

supper!     I  heard  mamma  tell  the  cook  not  to  pepper  it  too 

much. 
CARROLL.     What  a  funny  little  rabbit  it  is,  nibbling  all  the  time! 

[He  leans  gently  over  the  back  of  her  chair,  and  seeing  that  she 

is  going  to  sleep  puts  out  the  lamplight  and   leaves  the  room. 

A  red  glow  from  the  fireplace  illumines  Alice.     Dream  music. 

A  bluish  light  reveals  the  Red  Chess  Queen  and  the  White  Chess 

Queen  in  the  mirror. 
RED  QUEEN  (points  to  Alice  and  says  in  a  mysterious  voice) 

There  she  is,  —  let's  call  her  over. 
WHITE  QUEEN.     Do  you  think  she'll  come? 
RED  QUEEN.     I'll  call  softly,  —  Alice! 
WHITE  QUEEN.     Hist,  Alice. 
RED  QUEEN.     Alice! 

WHITE  QUEEN.     Hush  —  if  she  wakes  and  catches  us 

BOTH  QUEENS.     Alice,  come  through  into  looking-glass  house! 

[Their  hands  beckon  her. 
ALICE  (Rises,  and  talks  sleepily.     The  Queens  disappear.     Alice 

climbs  from  the  arm  of  the  chair  to  the  back  of  another  and  so 

on  up  to  the  mantel  ledge,  where  she  picks  her  way  daintily 

between  the  vases).     I  —  don't  —  know  —  how  —  I  —  can  - 

get  —  through.     I've   tried  —  before  —  but    the   glass   was 

hard  —  and  I  was  afraid  of  cutting  —  my  fingers —     (She 


390  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

feels  the  glass  and  is  amazed  to  find  it  like  gauze)     Why,  it's 
soft  like  gauze;    it's  turning  into  a  sort  of  mist;    why,  it's 
easy  to  get  through !     Why  —  why  —  I'm  going  through! 
[She  disappears. 

SCENE  II 

Is  Scene  I,  reversed.  The  portieres  are  black  and  red  squares, 
like  a  chess-board.  A  soft  radiance  follows  ilw  characters  mys- 
teriously. As  the  curtain  rises,  Alice  comes  through  the  look- 
ing-glass; steps  down,  looks  about  in  wonderment,  and  goes  to 
see  if  there  is  a  "fire. "  The  Red  Queen  rises  out  of  the  grate 
and  faces  her  haughtily. 

ALICE.     Why,  you're  the  Red  Queen! 

RED  QUEEN.  Of  course  I  am!  Where  do  you  come  from? 
And  where  are  you  going?  Look  up,  speak  nicely,  and  don't 
twiddle  your  fingers! 

ALICE.  I  only  wanted  to  see  what  the  looking-glass  was  like. 
Perhaps  I've  lost  my  way. 

RED  QUEEN.  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  your  way;  all 
the  ways  about  here  belong  to  me.  Curtsey  while  you're 
thinking  what  to  say.  It  sa'ves  time. 

ALICE.  I'll  try  it  when  I  go  home;  —  the  next  time  I'm  a 
little  late  for  dinner. 

RED  QUEEN.  It's  time  f or  you  to  answer  now ;  open  your  mouth 
a  little  wider  when  you  speak,  and  always  say,  "Your  Ma- 
jesty." I  suppose  you  don't  want  to  lose  your  name? 

ALICE.     No,  indeed! 

RED  QUEEN.  And  yet  I  don't  know,  only  think  how  convenient 
it  would  be  if  you  could  manage  to  go  home  without  it! 
For  instance,  if  the  governess  wanted  t6  call  you  to  your 
lessons,  she  would  call  out  "come  here,"  and  there  she  would 
have  to  leave  off,  because  there  wouldn't  be  any  name  for 
her  to  call,  and  of  course  you  wouldn't  have  to  go,  you  know. 

ALICE.  That  would  never  do,  I'm  sure;  the  governess  would 
never  think  of  excusing  me  from  lessons  for  that.  If  she 
couldn't  remember  my  name,  she'd  call  me  "Miss,"  as  the 
servants  do. 


Alice  in  Wonderland  SJM 

RED  QUEEN.     Well,  if  she  said  "Miss,"  and  didn't  say  anything 

more,  of  course  you'd  miss  your  lessons.     I  dare  say  you  can't 

even  read  this  book. 
ALICE.     It's  all  in  some  language  I  don't  know.     Why,  it's  a 

looking-glass  book,  of  course!    And  if  I  hold  it  up  to  a  glass, 

the  words  will  all  go  the  right  way  again. 

Jabberwocky 
'Twas  brillig,  and  the  slithy  toves 

Did  gyre  and  gimble  in  the  wabe; 
All  mimsy  were  the  borogoves, 

And  the  mome  raths  outgrabe. 

It  seems  very  pretty,  but  it's  rather  hard  to  understand; 

somehow  it  seems  to  fill  my  head  with  ideas  —  only  I  don't 

exactly  know  what  they  are. 
RED  QUEEN.     I  dare  say  you  don't  know  your  geography  either. 

Look  at  the  map! 

[She  takes  a  right  angle  course  to  the  portieres  and  points  to 

them  with  her  sceptre. 
ALICE.     It's  marked  out  just  like  a  big  chess-board.    I  wouldn't 

mind  being  a  pawn,  though  of  course  I  should  like  to  be  a 

Red  Queen  best. 
RED  QUEEN.  ^  That's  easily  managed.     When  you  get  to  the 

eighth  square  you'll  be  a  Queen.     It's  a  huge  game  of  chess 

that's  being  played  —  all  over  the  world.     Come  on,  we've 

got  to  run.     Faster,  don't  try  to  talk. 
ALICE.     I  can't. 
RED  QUEEN.     Faster,  faster. 
ALICE.     Are  we  nearly  there? 
RED  QUEEN.     Nearly  there!    Why,  we  passed  it  ten  minutes 

ago.     Faster.     You  may  rest  a  little  now. 
ALICE.     Why,  I  do  believe  we're  in  the  same  place.     Every- 
thing's just  as  it  was. 

RED  QUEEN.     Of  course  it  is;  what  would  you  have  it? 
ALICE.     Well,  in  our  country  you'd  generally  get  to  somewhere 

else  —  if  you  ran  very  fast  for  a  long  time  as  we've  been 

doing. 


392  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

RED  QUEEN.  A  slow  sort  of  country.  Now  here  you  see,  it 
takes  all  the  running  you  can  do,  to  keep  in  the  same  place. 
If  you  want  to  get  somewhere  else,  you  must  run  at  least 
twice  as  fast  as  that. 

ALICE.  I'd  rather  not  try,  please!  I'm  quite  content  to  stay 
here  —  only  I  am  so  hot  and  thirsty. 

RED  QUEEN.  I  know  what  you'd  like.  (She  takes  a  little  box 
out  of  her  pocket)  Have  a  biscuit? 

[Alice,  not  liking  to  refuse,  curtseys  as  she  takes  the  biscuit  and 
chokes. 

RED  QUEEN.  While  you're  refreshing  yourself,  I'll  just  take 
the  measurements.  (She  takes  a  ribbon  out  of  her  pocket  and 
measures  the  map  with  it)  At  the  end  of  two  yards  I  shall 
give  you  your  directions  —  have  another  biscuit? 

ALICE.     No  thank  you,  one's  quite  enough. 

RED  QUEEN.  Thirst  quenched,  I  hope?  At  the  end  of  three 
yards  I  shall  repeat  them  —  for  fear  of  your  forgetting  them. 
At  the  end  of  four,  I  shall  say  good-bye.  And  at  the  end 
of  five,  I  shall  go !  That  Square  belongs  to  Humpty  Dumpty 
and  that  Square  to  the  Gryphon  and  Mock  Turtle  and 
that  Square  to  the  Queen  of  Hearts.  But  you  make  no 
remark? 

ALICE.     I  —  I  didn't  know  I  had  to  make  one  —  just  then. 

RED  QUEEN.  You  should  have  said,  "  It's  extremely  kind  of  you 
to  tell  me  all  this";  —  however,  we'll  suppose  it  said.  Four! 
Good-bye !  Five ! 

[Red  Queen  vanishes  in  a  gust  of  wind  behind  the  portieres. 
Rabbit  music.  White  Rabbit  comes  out  of  the  fireplace  and 
walks  about  the  room  hurriedly.  He  wears  a  checked  coat,  car- 
ries white  kid  gloves  in  one  hand,  a  fan  in  the  other,  and  takes 
out  his  watch  to  look  at  it  anxiously. 

WHITE  RABBIT.  Oh,  the  Duchess!  the  Duchess!  Oh!  won't 
she  be  savage  if  I've  kept  her  waiting! 

ALICE.  I've  never  seen  a  rabbit  with  a  waistcoat  and  a  watch! 
And  a  waistcoat  pocket!  If  you  please,  sir 

WHITE   RABBIT.      Oh! 

[He  drops  fan  and  gloves  in  fright,  and  dashes  out  by  way  of 


Alice  in  Wonderland  393 

the  portieres,  in  a  gust  of  wind.    Alice  picks  up  the  fan  and 

playfully  puts  on  the  gloves.     The  portieres  flap  in  the  breeze 

and  a  shawl  flies  in. 
ALICE  (catches  the  shawl  and  looks  about  for  the  owner;  then  meets 

the  White  Queen).     I'm  very  glad  I  happened  to  be  in  the 

way. 
WHITE  QUEEN  (runs  in  wildly,  both  arms  stretched  out  wide  as  if 

she  were  flying,  and  cries  in  a  helpless,  frightened  way).    Bread- 
and-butter,  bread-and-butter. 
ALICE.     Am  I  addressing  the  White  Queen? 
WHITE  QUEEN.     Well,  yes,  if  you  call  that  a-dressing.     It  isn't 

my  notion  of  the  thing,  at  all. 
ALICE.     If  your  Majesty  will  only  tell  me  the  right  way  to  begin, 

I'll  do  it  as  well  as  I  can. 
WHITE  QUEEN.     But  I  don't  want  it  done  at  all.    I've  been 

a-dressing  myself  for  the  last  two  hours. 
ALICE.     Every  single  thing's  crooked,  and  you're  all  over  pins; 

may  I  put  your  shawl  straight  for  you? 
WHITE  QUEEN.     I  don't  know  what's  the  matter  with  it!    It's 

out  of  temper.     I've  pinned  it  here,  and  I've  pinned  it  there, 

but  there's  no  pleasing  it. 
ALICE.     It  can't  go  straight,  you  know,  if  you  pin  it  all  on  one 

side,  and  dear  me,  what  a  state  your  hair  is  in ! 
WHITE  QUEEN.     The  brush  has  got  entangled  in  it !    And  I  lost 

the  comb  yesterday. 
ALICE  (takes  out  the  brush  and  arranges  the  Queen's  hair).     You 

look  better  now !    But  really  you  should  have  a  lady's  maid ! 
WHITE  QUEEN.     I'm  sure  I'll  take  you  with  pleasure.     Two 

pence  a  week  and  jam  every  other  day. 
ALICE  (who  cannot  help  laughing).     I  don't  want  you  to  hire 

me  —  and  I  don't  care  for  jam. 
WHITE  QUEEN.     It's  very  good  jam. 
ALICE.     Well,  I  don't  want  any  to-day,  at  any  rate. 
WHITE  QUEEN.     You  couldn't  have  it  if  you  did  want  it.     The 

rule  is,  jam  to-morrow  and  jam  yesterday  —  but  never  jam 

to-day. 
ALICE.     It  must  come  sometimes  to  "jam  to-day." 


394  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

WHITE  QUEEN.  No,  it  can't,  —  it's  jam  every  other  day ; 
to-day  isn't  any  other  day,  you  know. 

ALICE.     I  don't  understand  you,  —  it's  dreadfully  confusing ! 

WHITE  QUEEN.  That's  the  effect  of  living  backwards,  —  it  al- 
ways makes  one  a  little  giddy  at  first 

ALICE.     Living  backwards!    I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing! 

WHITE  QUEEN.  But  there's  one  great  advantage  in  it  —  that 
one's  memory  works  both  ways. 

ALICE.  I'm  sure  mine  only  works  one  way.  I  can't  remember 
things  before  they  happen. 

WHITE  QUEEN.  It's  a  poor  sort  of  memory  that  only  works 
backwards. 

ALICE.     What  sort  of  things  do  you  remember  best? 

WHITE  QUEEN.  Oh,  things  that  happened  the  week  after  next. 
For  instance  now:  (She  sticks  a  large  piece  of  plaster  on  her 
finger)  There's  the  King's  messenger  —  he's  in  prison  being 
punished;  and  the  trial  doesn't  even  begin  till  next  Wednes- 
day; and  of  course  the  crime  comes  last  of  all. 

ALICE.     Suppose  he  never  commits  the  crime? 

WHITE  QUEEN  (binding  the  plaster  with  ribbon).  That  would  be 
all  the  better,  wouldn't  it? 

ALICE.  Of  course  it  would  be  all  the  better,  but  it  wouldn't  be 
all  the  better  his  being  punished. 

WHITE  QUEEN.  You're  wrong  there,  at  any  rate;  were  you  ever 
punished? 

ALICE.     Only  for  faults. 

WHITE  QUEEN.    And  you  were  all  the  better  for  it,  I  know ! 

ALICE.  Yes,  but  then  I  had  done  the  things  I  was  punished 
for;  that  makes  all  the  difference. 

WHITE  QUEEN.  But  if  you  hadn't  done  them  that  would  have 
been  better  still;  better  and  better  and  better! 

ALICE.     There's  a  mistake  somewhere  — — 

WHITE  QUEEN  (screams  like  an  engine  whMe,  and  shakes  her 
hand).  Oh,  Oh,  Oh!  My  finger's  bleeding.  Oh,  Oh,  Oh! 

ALICE.     What  is  the  matter?    Have  you  pricked  your  finger? 

WHITE  QUEEN.  I  haven't  pricked  it  yet  —  but  I  soon  shall : — 
Oh,  Oh,  Oh! 


Alice  in  Wonderland  395 

ALICE.     When  do  you  expect  to  do  it? 

WHITE  QUEEN.     When  I  fasten  my  shawl  again;    the  brooch 

will  come  undone  directly.     Oh,  oh! 
[Brooch  flies  open  and  she  clutcJies  it  wildly. 
.ALICE.     Take  care!    you're  holding  it  all  crooked! 
WHITE  QUEEN  (pricks  her  finger  and  smiles).     That  accounts  for 

the  bleeding,  you  see;   now  you  understand  the  way  things 

happen  here. 

ALICE.     But  why  don't  you  scream  now? 
WHITE  QUEEN.  Why,    I've   done  all   the   screaming   already. 

What  would  be  the  good  of  having  it  all  over  again?     Oh! 

it's  time  to  run  if  you  want  to  stay  in  the  same  'place! 

Come  on! 

ALICE.     No,  no!     Not  so  fast!    I'm  getting  dizzy!  ! 
WHITE  QUEEN.     Faster,  faster! 
ALICE.     Everything's  black  before  my  eyes! 

[There  is  music,  and  the  sound  of  rushing  wind,  and  in  the 

darkness  the  White  Queen  cries:  "Faster,  faster";  Alice  gasps: 

"I  can't  —  please  stop";   and  the  Queen  replies:   "Then  you 

can't  stay  in  the  same  place.     I'll  have  to  drop  you  behind. 

Faster  —  faster,  good-bye." 

SCENE  III 

When  the  curtain  rises  one  sees  nothing  but  odd  black  lanterns 
with  orange  lights,  hanging,  presumably,  from  the  sky.  The  scene 
lights  up,  slowly  revealing  Alice  seated  on  two  large  cushions. 
She  has  been  "dropped  behind"  by  the  White  Queen,  and  is  dazed 
to  find  herself  in  a  strange  hall,  with  many  peculiar  doors,  and 
knobs  too  high  to  reach. 

ALICE.  Oh!  my  head!  Where  am  I?  Oh  dear,  Oh  dear! 
(She  staggers  up  and  to  her  amazement  finds  herself  smaller 
than  the  table)  I've  never  been  smaller  than  any  table  before! 
I've  always  been  able  to  reach  the  knobs!  What  a  curious 
feeling.  Oh!  I'm  shrinking.  It's  the  fan  —  the  gloves! 
(She  throws  them  away,  feels  her  head  and  measures  herself 
against  table  and  doors)  Oh!  saved  in  time!  But  I  never  — 
never 


396          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

WHITE  RABBIT.     Oh !  my  fan  and  gloves !    Where  are  my 

ALICE.     Oh!  Mr.  Rabbit  —  please  help  me  out  —  I  want  to  go 

home  — I  want  to  go  home 

WHITE  RABBIT.     Oh!  the  Duchess!     Oh!  my  fur  and  whiskers! 

She'll  get  me  executed,  as  sure  as  ferrets  are  ferrets!     Oh! 

you  have  them! 

ALICE.     I'm  sorry  —  you  dropped  them,  you  know 

WHITE  RABBIT  (picks  up  fan  and  gloves  and  patters  off).     She'll 

chop  off  your  head! 
ALICE.     If  you  please,  sir  —  where  am  I?  —  won't  you  please 

—  tell  me  how  to  get  out  —  I  want  to  get  out 

WHITE  RABBIT  (looking  at  his  watch) .     Oh !  my  ears  and  whiskers, 

how  late  it's  getting! 

[A  trap-door  gives  way  and  Rabbit  disappears.     Alice  dashes 

after,  only  in  time  to  have  the  trap-door  bang  in  her  face. 
ALICE  (amazed).     It's  a  rabbit-hole  —  I'm  small  enough  to  fit 

it  too!     If  I  shrink  any  more  it  might  end  in  my  going  out 

altogether  like  a  candle.     I  wonder  what  I  would  be  like 

then!    What  does  the  flame  of  a  candle  look  like  after  the 

candle  is  blown  out?     I've  never  seen  such  a  thing! 
HUMPTY  DUMPTY  (sits  on  the  wall).     Don't  stand  chattering  to 

yourself  like  that,  but  tell  me  your  name  and  your  business. 
ALICE.     My  name  is  Alice,  but  — 
HUMPTY  DUMPTY.     It's  a  stupid  name  enough,  —  what  does  it 

mean? 

ALICE.     Must  a  name  mean  something? 
HUMPTY  DUMPTY.     Of  course  it  must;    my  name  means  the 

shape  I  am  —  and  a  good,  handsome  shape  it  is,  too.     With 

a  name  like  yours,  you  might  be  any  shape,  almost. 
ALICE.  You're  Humpty  Dumpty!  Just  like  an  egg. 
HUMPTY  DUMPTY.  It's  very  provoking,  to  be  called  an  egg  — 

very. 
ALICE.     I  said  you  looked  like  an  egg,  sir,  and  some  eggs  are 

very  pretty,  you  know. 
HUMPTY  DUMPTY.     Some  people  have  no  more  sense  than  a 

baby. 
ALICE.     Why  do  you  sit  here  all  alone? 


Alice  in  Wonderland  307 

HUMPTY  DUMPTY.  Why,  because  there's  nobody  with  me.  Did 
you  think  I  didn't  know  the  answer  to  that?  Ask  another. 

ALICE.  Don't  you  think  you'd  be  safer  down  on  the  ground? 
That  wall's  so  very  narrow. 

HUMPTY  DUMPTY.  What  tremendously  easy  riddles  you  ask! 
Of  course  I  don't  think  so.  Take  a  good  look  at  me!  I'm 
one  that  has  spoken  to  a  king,  I  am;  to  show  you  I'm  not 
proud,  you  may  shake  hands  with  me!  (He  leans  forward 
to  offer  Alice  his  hand,  but  she  is  too  small  to  reach  it)  How- 
ever, this  conversation  is  going  on  a  little  too  fast;  let's  go 
back  to  the  last  remark  but  one. 

ALICE.     I'm  afraid  I  can't  remember  it. 

HUMPTY  DUMPTY.  In  that  case  we  start  fresh,  and  it's  my  turn 
to  choose  a  subject. 

ALICE.     You  talk  about  it  just  as  if  it  were  a  game. 

HUMPTY  DUMPTY.  So  here's  a  question  for  you.  How  old  did 
you  say  you  were? 

ALICE.     Seven  years  and  six  months. 

HUMPTY  DUMPTY.  Wrong!  You  never  said  a  word  about  it. 
Now,  if  you'd  asked  my  advice,  I'd  have  said,  "Leave  off  at 
seven  —  but " 

ALICE.     I  never  ask  advice  about  growing. 

HUMPTY   DUMPTY.      Too  proud? 

ALICE.     What  a  beautiful  belt  you've  got  on.    At  least,  a 

beautiful  cravat,  I  should  have  said  —  no,  a  belt,  I  mean  — 

I  beg  your  pardon.     If  only  I  knew  which  was  neck  and 

which  was  waist. 
HUMPTY  DUMPTY.     It  is  a  —  most  —  provoking  —  thing,  when 

a  person  doesn't  know  a  cravat  from  a  belt. 
ALICE.     I  know  it's  very  ignorant  of  me. 
HUMPTY  DUMPTY.     It's  a  cravat,  child,  and  a  beautiful  one,  as 

you  say.     There's  glory  for  you. 
ALICE.     I  don't  know  wh?,t  you  mean  by  "glory." 
HUMPTY  DUMPTY.     When  I  use  a  word,  it  means  just  what  I 

choose  it  to  mean  —  neither  more  nor  less. 
ALICE.     The  question  is,  whether  you  can  make  words  mean 

different  things. 


398          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

HUMPTY  DUMPTY.  The  question  is,  which  is  to  be  master  — 
that's  all.  Impenetrability!  That's  what  I  say! 

ALICE.     Would  you  tell  me,  please,  what  that  means? 

HUMPTY  DUMPTY.  I  meant  by  "impenetrability"  that  we've 
had  enough  of  that  subject,  and  it  would  be  just  as  well  if 
you'd  mention  what  you  mean  to  do  next,  as  I  suppose  you 
don't  mean  to  stop  here  all  the  rest  of  your  life. 

ALICE.     That's  a  great  deal  to  make  one  word  mean. 

HUMPTY  DUMPTY.  When  I  make  a  word  do  a  lot  of  work  like 
that  I  always  pay  it  extra. 

ALICE.     Oh ! 

HUMPTY  DUMPTY.  Ah,  you  should  see  'em  come  round  me  of  a 
Saturday  night,  for  to  get  their  wages,  you  know.  That's 
all  —  Good-bye. 

ALICE.     Good-bye  till  we  meet  again. 

HUMPTY  DUMPTY.  I  shouldn't  know  you  again,  if  we  did  meet, 
you're  so  exactly  like  other  people. 

ALICE.     The  face  is  what  one  goes  by,  generally. 

HUMPTY  DUMPTY.  That's  just  what  I  complain  of.  Your  face 
is  the  same  as  everybody  has  —  the  two  eyes  —  so  —  nose 
in  the  middle,  mouth  under.  It's  always  the  same.  Now, 
if  you  had  the  two  eyes  on  the  same  side  of  the  nose,  for 
instance  —  or  the  mouth  at  the  top  —  that  would  be  some 
help. 

ALICE.     It  wouldn't  look  nice. 

HUMPTY  DUMPTY.    Wait  till  you've  tried!    Good-bye. 
[He  disappears  as  he  came. 

ALICE.  Oh!  I  forgot  to  ask  him  how  to  —  (She  tries  to  open 
the  doors.  They  are  all  locked;  she  begins  to  weep.  She  walks 
weeping  to  a  high  glass  table,  and  sits  down  on  its  lower  ledge. 
She  sits  on  a  big  golden  key  and  picks  it  up  in  surprise.  She 
tries  it  on  all  the  doors  but  it  does  not  fit.  She  weeps  and  weeps 
—  and  Wonderland  grows  dark  to  her  in  her  despair.  In  the 

.  darkness  she  cries,  "Oh!  I'm  slipping!  Oh,  oh!  it's  a  lake. 
Oh!  my  tears!  I'm  floating!"  A  mysterious  light  shows  a 
"Drink  me"  sign  around  a  bottle  on  the  top  of  the  table.  Alice 
floats  up  to  it,  panting,  and  holding  on  to  the  edge  of  the  table 


Alice  in  Wonderland  399 

takes  up  the  bottle)  It  isn't  marked  poison.  (She  yips  at  it) 
This  is  good!  Tastes  like  cherry  tart,  custard,  pineapple, 
roast  turkey,  toffy  and  hot  buttered  toast  —  all  together. 
Oh!  Oh!  I'm  letting  out  like  a  telescope.  (A  mysterious 
light  shows  her  lengthening  out.  Music)  But  the  lake  is  ris- 
ing, too.  Oh!  Oh!  it's  deep!  I'm  drowning.  Help,  help, 
I'm  drowning,  I'm  drowning  in  my  tears! 
GRYPHON.  Hjckrrh.  Hjckrrh! 

[The  Gryphon,  a  huge  green  creature,  with  big  glittering  wings, 
appears  where  Humpty  Dumpty  had  been,  and  reaches  glitter- 
ing claws  over  to  grab  and  save  Alice. 


SCENE  IV 

Is  symbolic  of  a  wet  and  rocky  shore  in  a  weird  green  light. 
The  Mock  Turtle  is  weeping  dismally. 
GRYPHON.     Hjckrrh.     Hjckrrh.     Hjckrrh. 
MOCK  TURTLE  (answers  with  his  weeping). 
GRYPHON  (drags  Alice  in).     Drop  your  tears  into  the  sea  with 

his. 
ALICE.     He  sobs  as  if  he  had  a  bone  in  his  throat.      He  sighs  as 

if  his  heart  would  break.  What  is  his  sorrow? 
MOCK  TURTLE.     Oh,  Gryphon,  it's  terrible! 
GRYPHON.     It's  all  his  fancy  that.     Mock  Turtle  hasn't  got  no 

sorrow.     This  here  young  lady,  she  wants  for  to  know  your 

history,  she  do. 
MOCK  TURTLE.     I'll  tell  it  her.     Sit  down,  both  of  you,  and 

don't  speak  a  word  till  I've  finished. 

ALICE.     I  don't  see  how  you  can  ever  finish,  if  you  don't  begin. 
MOCK  TURTLE.     Once,  I  was  a  real  Turtle.     (A  long  silence  is 

broken  only  by  the  exclamations,  "Hjckrrh,"  of  the  Gryphon, 

and  the  heavy  sobbing  of  the  Mock  Turtle)     When  we  were 

little,  we  went  to  school  in  the  sea.     The  master  was  an  old 

Turtle  —  we  used  to  call  him  Tortoise  — 
ALICE.     Why  did  you  call  him  Tortoise,  if  he  wasn't  one? 
MOCK  TURTLE.     We  called  him  Tortoise  because  he  taught  us; 

really  you  are  very  dull. 


400          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

GRYPHON.  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  for  asking 
such  a  simple  question.  Drive  on,  old  fellow!  Don't  be  all 
day  about  it ! 

MOCK  TURTLE.  Yes,  we  went  to  school  hi  the  sea,  tho'  you 
mayn't  believe  it 

ALICE.     I  never  said  I  didn't. 

MOCK  TURTLE.      You  did. 

GRYPHON.    Hold  your  tongue! 

MOCK  TURTLE.  We  had  the  best  of  educations  —  in  fact,  we 
went  to  school  every  day. 

ALICE.  I've  been  to  a  day  school,  too;  you  needn't  be  so 
proud  as  all  that. 

MOCK  TURTLE.     With  extras? 

ALICE.     Yes,  we  learned  French  and  music. 

MOCK  TURTLE.    And  washing? 

ALICE.     Certainly  not! 

MOCK  TURTLE.  Ah!  Then  yours  wasn't  a  really  good  school. 
Now  at  ours  they  had  at  the  end  of  the  bill,  French,  music, 
and  washing  —  extra. 

ALICE.  You  couldn't  have  wanted  it  much;  living  at  the 
bottom  of  the  sea. 

MOCK  TURTLE.  I  couldn't  afford  to  learn  it,  —  I  only  took  the 
regular  course. 

ALICE.     What  was  that? 

MOCK  TURTLE.  Reeling  and  writhing,  of  course,  to  begin  with, 
—  and  then  the  different  branches  of  Arithmetic  —  Ambi- 
tion, Distraction,  TJglification,  and  Derision. 

ALICE.     I  never  heard  of  Uglification.     What  is  it? 

GRYPHON.  Never  heard  of  uglifying!  You  know  what  to 
beautify  is,  I  suppose? 

ALICE.     Yes,  it  means  —  to  —  make  —  anything  —  prettier. 

GRYPHON.  Well,  then,  if  you  don't  know  what  to  uglify  is, 
you  are  a  simpleton. 

ALICE.     What  else  had  you  to  learn? 

MOCK  TURTLE.  Well,  there  was  Mystery;  Mystery,  ancient 
and  modern,  with  Seaography,  then  Drawling  —  the  Draw- 
ling-master was  an  old  conger-eel,  that  used  to  come  once  a 


Alice  in  Wonderland  401 

week;    what  he  taught  us  was  Drawling,  Stretching,  and 

Fainting  in  Coils. 
ALICE.     What  was  that  like? 
MOCK  TURTLE.     Well,  I  can't  show  it  you,  myself.     I'm  too 

stiff.     And  the  Gryphon  never  learned  it. 
GRYPHON.     Hadn't   time;     I   went   to   the   Classical   master, 

though.     He  was  an  old  crab,  he  was. 
MOCK  TURTLE.     I  never  went  to  him;  he  taught  Laughing  and 

Grief,  they  used  to  say. 
GRYPHON.     So  he  did,  so  he  did. 

ALICE.     And  how  many  hours  a  day  did  you  do  lessons? 
MOCK  TURTLE.     Ten  hours  the  first  day,  nine  the  next,  and 

so  on. 

ALICE.     What  a  curious  plan! 
GRYPHON.     That's  the  reason  they're  called  lessons,  because 

they  lessen  from  day  to  day. 

ALICE.     Then  the  eleventh  day  must  have  been  a  holiday? 
MOCK  TURTLE.     Of  course  it  was. 
ALICE.     And  how  did  you  manage  on  the  twelfth? 
GRYPHON.     That's  enough  about  lessons,  —  tell  her  something 

about  the  games  now.     (Mock  Turtle  sighs  deeply,  draws  back 

of  one  flapper  across  his  eyes.     He  looks  at  Alice  and  tries  to 

speak,  but  sobs  choke  his  voice.     Gryphon  punches  him  in  the 

back)     Same  as  if  he  had  a  bone  in  his  throat. 
MOCK  TURTLE  (with  tears  running  down  his  cheeks).     You  may 

not  have  lived  much  under  the  sea 

ALICE.     I  haven't. 

MOCK  TURTLE.     And  perhaps  you  were  never  even  introduced 

to  a  lobster. 

ALICE.     I  once  tasted  —  no,  never! 
MOCK  TURTLE.     So  you  can  have  no  idea  what  a  delightful 

thing  a  Lobster  Quadrille  is. 
ALICE.     No,  indeed.     What  sort  of  a  dance  is  it? 
GRYPHON.     Why,  you  first  form  into  a  line  along  the  seashore. 
MOCK  TURTLE.     Two  lines;    seals,  turtles,  salmon,  and  so  on; 

then,  when  you've  cleared  all  the  jellyfish  out  of  the  way 

GRYPHON.     That  generally  takes  some  time. 


402  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

MOCK  TURTLE.     You  advance  twice 

GRYPHON.     Each  with  a  lobster  as  a  partner. 

MOCK  TURTLE.     Of  course,  advance  twice,  set  to  partners. 

GRYPHON.     Change  lobsters,  and  retire  in  same  order. 

MOCK  TURTLE.     Then  you  know,  you  throw  the 

GRYPHON.     The  lobsters! 

MOCK  TURTLE.     As  far  out  to  sea  as  you  can 

GRYPHON.     Swim  after  them! 

MOCK  TURTLE.     Turn  a  somersault  in  the  sea. 

GRYPHON.     Change  lobsters  again! 

MOCK  TURTLE.     Back  to  land  again,  and  —  that's  all  the  first 

figure. 

ALICE.     It  must  be  a  very  pretty  dance. 
MOCK  TURTLE.     Would  you  like  to  see  a  little  of  it? 
ALICE.     Very  much  indeed. 
MOCK  TURTLE.     Come,  let's  try  the  first  figure.     We  can  do  it 

without  lobsters,  you  know;   which  shall  sing? 
GRYPHON.     Oh,  you  sing,  —  I've  forgotten  the  words. 

[Creatures  solemnly  dance  round  and  round  Alice,  treading  on 

her  toes,  waving  fore-paws  to  mark  time,  while  Mock   Turtle 

sings. 

First  Verse 

"Will  you  walk  a  little  faster!"  said  a  whiting  to  a  snail, 
"There's  a  porpoise  close  behind  us,  and  he's  treading  on  my 

tail. 

See  how  eagerly  the  lobsters  and  the  turtles  all  advance! 
They  are  waiting  on  the  shingle  —  will  you  come  and  join  the 

dance? 
Will  you,  won't  you,  will  you,  won't  you,  will  you  join  the 

dance? 
Will  you,  won't  you,  will  you,  won't  you,  won't  you  join  the 

dance? 

Second  Verse 

"You  can  really  have  no  notion  how  delightful  it  will  be 
When  they  take  us  up  and  throw  us,  with  the  lobsters,  out  to 
sea!" 


Alice  in  Wonderland  403 

But  the  snail  replied,  "Too  far,  too  far!"  and  gave  a  look 

askance  — 
Said  he  thanked  the  whiting  kindly,  but  he  would  not  join  the 

dance. 
Would  not,  could  not,  would  not,  could  not,  would  not  join 

the  dance. 
Would  not,  could  not,  would  not,  could  not,  could  not  join  the 

dance. 

[The  Creatures  dance  against  Alice,  pushing  her  back  and  forth 

between  them.     She  protests  and  finally  escapes;    they  bump 

against  each  other. 
ALICE.     Thank  you;    it's  a  very  interesting  dance  to  watch, 

and  I  do  so  like  that  curious  song  about  the  whiting. 
MOCK  TURTLE.     Oh,   as  to  the  whiting,  they  —  you've  seen 

them,  of  course? 
ALICE.     Yes,  I've  often  seen  them  at  din • 

[Checks  herself  hastily. 
MOCK  TURTLE.     I  don't  know  where  Din  may  be,  but  if  you've 

seen  them  so  often,  of  course  you  know  what  they're  like. 
ALICE.     I  believe  so,  —  they  have  their  tails  in  their  mouths  — 

and  they're  all  over  crumbs. 
MOCK   TURTLE.     You're  wrong   about  the   crumbs,  —  crumbs 

would  all  wash  off  in  the  sea.     But  they  have  their  tails  in 

their  mouths ;  and  the  reason  is (Mock  Turtle  yawns  and 

shuts  his  eyes)     Tell  her  about  the  reason  and  all  that. 
GRYPHON.     The  reason  is,  that  they  would  go  with  the  lobsters 

to  the  dance.     So  they  got  thrown  out  to  sea.     So  they  had 

to  fall  a  long  way.     So  they  got  their  tails  fast  in  their 

mouths.     So  they  couldn't  get  them  out  again.     That's  all. 
ALICE.     Thank  you,  it's  very  interesting.     I  never  knew  so 

much  about  a  whiting  before. 
GRYPHON.     I  can  tell  you  more  than  that,  if  you  like.     Do  you 

know  why  it's  called  a  whiting? 
ALICE.     I  never  thought  about  it.     Why? 
GRYPHON.     It  does  the  boots  and  shoes. 
ALICE.     Does  the  boots  and  shoes! 


404  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

x   GRYPHON.    Why,  what  are  your  shoes  done  with?    I  mean, 

what  makes  them  so  shiny? 
ALICE.     They're  done  with  blacking,  I  believe. 
GRYPHON.     Boots  and  shoes,  under  the  sea,  are  done  with 

whiting.     Now  you  know. 
ALICE.     And  what  are  they  made  of? 
GRYPHON.     Soles  and  eels,  of  course;    any  shrimp  could  have 

told  you  that. 
ALICE.     If  I'd  been  the  whiting,  I'd  have  said  to  the  porpoise, 

"Keep  back,  please;  we  don't  want  you  with  us." 
MOCK  TURTLE.     They  were  obliged  to  have  him  with  them,  — 

no  wise  fish  would  go  anywhere  without  a  porpoise. 
ALICE.     Wouldn't  it  really? 
MOCK  TURTLE.     Of  course  not;   why,  if  a  fish  came  to  me  and 

told  me  he  was  going  a  journey,  I  should  say,  "With  what 

porpoise?" 

ALICE.     Don't  you  mean  purpose? 
MOCK  TURTLE.     I  mean  what  I  say. 

GRYPHON.     Shall  we  try  another  figure  of  the  Lobster  Qua- 
drille?    Or  would  you  like  the  Mock  Turtle  to  sing  you  a 

song? 

ALICE.     Oh,  a  song,  please,  if  the  Mock  Turtle  would  be  so  kind. 
GRYPHON.     Um!     No  accounting  for  tastes!     Sing  her  "Turtle 

Soup,"  will  you,  old  fellow? 
MOCK  TURTLE  (sighs  deeply  and,  sometimes  choked  with  sobs, 

sings). 

"Beautiful  Soup,  so  rich  and  green, 

Waiting  in  a  hot  tureen ! 
Who  for  such  dainties  would  not  stoop? 
Soup  of  the  evening,  beautiful  Soup! 
Soup  of  the  evening,  beautiful  Soup! 
Beau  —  ootif ul  Soo  —  op, 
Beau  —  ootif  ul  Soo  —  oop, 
Soo  —  oop  of  the  e-e-evening, 
Beautiful,  beautiful  Soup." 

WHITE  RABBIT  (enters,  stretching  out  a  red  and  white  checked 
sash  with  which  he  separates  Alice  from  the  Creatures).     Check! 


Alice  in  Wonderland  405 

MOCK  TURTLE.     They  won't  let  her  stay  in  our  square. 

WHITE  RABBIT.    The  Queen  is  coming  this  way. 

GRYPHON.     She'll  chop  our  heads   off.     Come  on,   come  on, 

let's  fly! 

[The  Mock  Turtle  and  Gryphon  grab  Alice  and  fly  into  the  air. 

CURTAIN 

[The  Curtain  rises  to  reveal  small  silhouettes  of  the  Gryphon, 
Mock  Turtle,  and  Alice  in  an  orange-coloured  moon  far  away 
in  the  sky.  Down  below  the  White  Rabbit  is  shouting  to  them, 
"You'll  be  safe  in  the  March  Hare's  garden." 

CURTAIN 


ACT  II 

SCENE.  The  March  Hare's  garden,  showing  part  of  the  Duch- 
ess' house.  On  a  small  platform  there  is  a  tea  table,  set  with 
many  cups,  continuing  into  wings  to  give  impression  of  limitless 
length.  The  March  Hare,  Hatter,  and  Dormouse  are  crowded 
at  one  end.  Alice  sits  on  the  ground,  where  she  has  been 
dropped  from  the  sky.  Finding  herself  not  bruised,  she  rises  and 
approaches  .he  table. 

MARCH  HARE  AND  HATTER.      No  TOOm!      No  FOOm! 

ALICE.     There's  plenty  of  room!     (She  sits  in  a  large  armchair 

at  one  end  of  the  table)     I  don't  know  who  you  are. 
MARCH  HARE.     I  am  the  March  Hare,  that's  the  Hatter,  and 

this  is  the  Dormouse.     Have  some  wine? 
ALICE.     I  don't  see  any  wine. 
MARCH  HARE.     There  isn't  any. 
ALICE.     Then  it  wasn't  very  civil  of  you  to  offer  it. 
MARCH  HARE.     It  wasn't  very  civil  of  you  to  sit  down  without 

being  invited. 
ALICE.     I  didn't  know  it  was  your  table;   it's  laid  for  a  great 

many  more  than  three. 


406  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

HATTER.     Your  hair  wants  cutting. 

ALICE.    You  should  learn  not  to  make  personal  remarks;   it's 

very  rude. 

HATTER.    Why  is  a  raven  like  a  writing-desk? 
ALICE.     Come,  we  shall  have  some  fun  now!    I'm  glad  you've 

begun  asking  riddles  —  I  believe  I  can  guess  that. 
MARCH  HARE.     So  you  mean  that  you  think  you  can  find  out 

the  answer  to  it? 
ALICE.    Exactly  so. 

MARCH  HARE.     Then  you  should  say  what  you  mean. 
ALICE.     I  do;   at  least  —  at  least  I  mean  what  I  say  —  that's 

the  same  thing,  you  know. 
HATTER.    Not  the  same  thing  a  bit!    Why,  you  might  just  as 

well  say  that  "I  see  what  I  eat"  is  the  same  thing  as  "I 

eat  what  I  see!" 
MARCH  HARE.    You  might  just  as  well  say  that  "I  like  what  I 

get,"  is  the  same  thing  as  "I  get  what  I  like." 
DORMOUSE.     You  might  just  as  well  say  that  "I  breathe  when 

I  sleep"  is  the  same  thing  as  "I  sleep  when  I  breathe." 
HATTER.     It  is  the  same  thing  with  you.     (Takes  out  his  watch, 

looks  at  it  uneasily,  shakes  it,  holds  it  to  his  ear)     What  day 

of  the  month  is  it? 
ALICE.     The  fourth. 
HATTER.     Two  days  wrong.     I  told  you  butter  wouldn't  suit 

the  works ! 

MARCH  HARE.     It  was  the  best  butter. 
HATTER.     Yes,  but  some  crumbs  must  have  got  in  as  well; 

you  shouldn't  have  put  it  in  with  the  bread-knife 

MARCH  HARE  (takes  the  watch,  looks  at  it  gloomily,  dips  it  into 

his  cup  of  tea,  and  looks  at  it  again,  but  doesn't  know  what 

else  to  say).     It  was  the  best  butter,  you  know. 
ALICE.    What  a  funny  watch!    It  tells  the  day  of  the  month, 

and  doesn't  tell  what  o'clock  it  is. 
HATTER.    Why  should  it?    Does  your  watch  tell  you  what 

year  it  is? 
ALICE.     Of  course  not,  but  that's  because  it  stays  the  same 

year  for  such  a  long  time  together. 


Alice  in  Wonderland  407 

HATTER.     Which  is  just  the  case  with  mine. 

ALICE.     I  don't  quite  understand  you.     What  you  said  had  no 

sort  of  meaning  in  it  and  yet  it  was  certainly  English. 
HATTER  (pouring  some  hot  tea  on  the  Dormouse9 s  nose).     The 

Dormouse  is  asleep  again. 
DORMOUSE.     Of  course,  of  course,  just  what  I  was  going  to 

remark  myself. 

HATTER.     Have  you  guessed  the  riddle  yet? 
ALICE.     No,  I  give  it  up,  —  what's  the  answer? 
HATTER.     I  haven't  the  slightest  idea. 

MARCH    HARE.       Nor  I. 

ALICE.  I  think  you  might  do  something  better  with  the 
tune,  than  wasting  it  in  asking  riddles  that  have  no 
answers. 

HATTER.  If  you  knew  Time  as  well  as  I  do,  you  wouldn't 
talk  about  wasting  it.  It's  him. 

ALICE.     I  don't  know  what  you  mean. 

HATTER.  Of  course  you  don't.  I  dare  say  you  never  even 
spoke  to  Time. 

ALICE.  Perhaps  not,  but  I  know  I  have  to  beat  time  when  I 
learn  music. 

HATTER.  Ah,  that  accounts  for  it.  He  won't  stand  beating. 
Now,  if  you  only  kept  on  good  terms  with  him,  he'd  do 
almost  anything  you  liked  with  the  clock.  For  instance, 
suppose  it  were  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  just  time  to 
begin  lessons.  You'd  only  have  to  whisper  a  hint  to  Time, 
and  round  goes  the  clock  in  a  twinkling!  Half  past  one, 
time  for  dinner. 

MARCH  HARE.     I  only  wish  it  was. 

ALICE.  That  would  be  grand,  certainly,  but  then  —  I  shoulan't 
be  hungry  for  it,  you  know. 

HATTER.  Not  at  first,  perhaps,  but  you  could  keep  it  to  half 
past  one  as  long  as  you  liked. 

ALICE.     Is  that  the  way  you  manage? 

HATTER.  Not  I,  —  we  quarrelled  last  March  —  just  before  he 
went  mad,  you  know.  It  was  at  the  great  concert  given  by 
the  Queen  of  Hearts,  and  I  had  to  sing 


408          A  Treasury  of  Plays  Jor  Children 

"Twinkle,  twinkle,  little  bat! 
How  I  wonder  what  you're  at!" 

You  know  the  song,  perhaps. 
ALICE.     I've  heard  something  like  it. 

DORMOUSE.     Twinkle,  twinkle,  twinkle 

HATTER.     Well,  I'd  hardly  finished  the  first  verse  when  the 

Queen  bawled  out,  "He's  murdering  the  time!    OS  with  his 

head!" 

ALICE.    How  dreadfully  savage! 
HATTER.     And  ever  since  that,  he  won't  do  a  thing  I  ask! 

It's  always  six  o'clock  now. 
ALICE.     Is  that  the  reason  so  many  tea-things  are  put  out 

here? 
HATTER.     Yes,  that's  it;    it's  always  tea  time,  and  we've  no 

time  to  wash  the  things  between  whiles. 
ALICE.     Then  you  keep  moving  round,  I  suppose? 
HATTER.     Exactly  so,  as  the  things  get  used  up. 
ALICE.     But  when  you  come  to  the  beginning  again? 
MARCH  HARE.     Suppose  we  change  the  subject.     I  vote  the 

young  lady  tells  us  a  story. 
ALICE.     I'm  afraid  I  don't  know  one. 
MARCH  HARE  AND  HATTER.     Then  the  Dormouse  shall.     Wake 

up,  Dormouse. 

[They  pinch  him  on  both  sides  at  once. 
DORMOUSE  (opens  his  eyes  slowly  and  says,  in  a  hoarse,  feeble 

voice).     I  wasn't  asleep;  I  heard  every  word  you  fellows  were 

saying. 

MARCH  HARE.     Tell  us  a  story. 
ALICE.     Yes,  please  do! 
HATTER.     And  be  quick  about  it,  or  you'll  be  asleep  again 

before  it's  done. 
DORMOUSE.     Once  upon  a  time  there  were  three  little  sisters, 

and  their  names  were  Elsie,  Lacie,  and  Tillie,  and  they  lived 

at  the  bottom  of  a  well 

ALICE.     What  did  they  live  on? 
DORMOUSE.    They  lived  on  treacle. 


Alice  in  Wonderland  409 

ALICE.  They  couldn't  have  done  that,  you  know,  —  they'd 
have  been  ill. 

DORMOUSE.     So  they  were,  very  ill. 

ALICE.     But  why  did  they  live  at  the  bottom  of  a  well? 

MARCH  HARE.     Take  some  more  tea. 

ALICE.     I've  had  nothing  yet,  so  I  can't  take  more. 

HATTER.  You  mean,  you  can't  take  less;  it's  very  easy  to 
take  more  than  nothing. 

ALICE.     Nobody  asked  your  opinion. 

HATTER.     Who's  making  personal  remarks  now? 

ALICE  (helps  herself  to  tea  and  bread  and  butter).  Why  did  they 
live  at  the  bottom  of  a  well? 

DORMOUSE  (takes  a  minute  or  two  to  think).  It  was  a  treacle- 
well. 

ALICE.     There's  no  such  a  thing! 

HATTER  AND  MARCH  HARE.   Sh!   Sh! 

DORMOUSE.     If  you  can't  be  civil,  you'd  better  finish  the  story 

for  yourself. 
ALICE  (very  humbly).     No,  please  go  on.     I  won't  interrupt  you 

again.     I  dare  say  there  may  be  one. 
DORMOUSE.     One,  indeed !     And  so  these  three  little  sisters  — 

they  were  learning  to  draw,  you  know 

ALICE.     What  did  they  draw? 

DORMOUSE.     Treacle. 

HATTER.     I  want  a  clean  cup.     Let's  all  move  one  place  on. 

[Hatter  moves  on,  Dormouse  takes  his  place,  March  Hare  takes 

Dormouse's  place,  and  Alice  unwillingly  takes  March  Hare's 

place. 
ALICE.     I'm  worse  off  than  I  was  before.     You've  upset  the 

milk  jug  into  your  plate. 
MARCH  HARE.     It  wasn't  very  civil  of  you  to  sit  down  without 

being  invited. 

ALICE.     Where  did  they  draw  the  treacle  from? 
HATTER.     You  can  draw  water  out  of  a  water-well,  so  I  should 

think  you  could  draw  treacle  out  of  a  treacle-well  —  eh? 

stupid? 
ALICE.    But  they  were  in  the  well. 


410          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

DORMOUSE.  Of  course  they  were  —  well  in.  They  were  learn- 
ing to  draw,  and  they  drew  all  manner  of  things  —  every- 
thing that  begins  with  an  M 

ALICE.     Why  with  an  M? 

MARCH  HARE.    Why  not? 

[Alice  is  silent  and  confused.  Hatter  pinches  Dormouse  to 
wake  him  up. 

DORMOUSE  (wakes  with  a  little  shriek  and  continues).     that 

begins  with  an  M,  such  as  mouse-traps  and  the  moon  and 
memory  and  muchness  —  you  know  you  say  things  are 
"much  of  a  muchness"  —  did  you  ever  see  such  a  thing  as 
a  drawing  of  a  muchness? 

HATTER.    Did  you? 

ALICE.    Really,  now  you  ask  me,  I  don't  think 

HATTER.     Then  you  shouldn't  talk. 

MARCH   HARE.      No! 

ALICE  (rises  and  walks  away).    You  are  very  rude.     It's  the 

stupidest  tea  party  I  ever  was  at  in  all  my  life 

[White  Rabbit  enters,  carrying  a  huge  envelope  with  a  seal  and 
crown  on  it. 

MARCH  HARE  AND  HATTER.     No  room!  no  room! 

[Rabbit  pays  no  attention  to  them  but  goes  to  the  house  and 
raps  loudly.  A  Footman  in  livery,  with  a  round  face  and  large 
eyes  like  a  frog,  and  powdered  hair,  opens  the  door. 

WHITE  RABBIT.  For  the  Duchess.  An  invitation  from  the 
Queen  to  play  croquet. 

FROG.     From  the  Queen.     An  invitation  for  the  Duchess  to 
play  croquet. 
[White  Rabbit  bows  and  goes  out. 

MARCH  HARE  AND  HATTER  (to  White  Rabbit).  No  room!  Tsio 
room!  No  room! 

[The  Frog  disappears  into  the  house,  but  leaves  the  door  open. 
There  is  a  terrible  din,  and  many  saucepans  fly  out. 

MARCH  HARE.     She's  at  it  again. 

HATTER.     It's  perfectly  disgusting. 

MARCH   HARE.       Let's  HIOVC  On. 

[The  platform  moves  off  with  table,  chairs,  March  Hare,  Hatter^ 


ALICE  IN  WONDERLAND 

Act  II. 

Frog. — "I  shall  sit  here,  till  to-morrow."     (The  door  opens  and  a 
large  plate  skims  out  straight  at  the  Frog's  head.) 


Alice  in  Wonderland  411 

and  Dormouse.  Meanwhile,  the  Frog  has  come  out  again  and 
is  sitting  near  the  closed  door,  staring  stupidly  at  the  sky. 
Alice  goes  to  the  door  timidly  and  knocks. 

FROG.  There's  no  sort  of  use  in  knocking,  and  that  for  two 
reasons:  first,  because  I'm  on  the  same  side  of  the  door  as 
you  are;  secondly,  because  they're  making  such  a  noise 
inside,  no  one  could  possibly  hear  you. 

ALICE.     Please  then,  how  am  I  to  get  in? 

FROG.  There  might  be  some  sense  in  your  knocking  if  we  had 
the  door  between  us.  For  instance,  if  you  were  inside,  you 
might  knock,  and  I  could  let  you  out,  you  know. 

ALICE.     How  am  I  to  get  in? 

FROG.  I  shall  sit  here,  till  to-morrow.  (The  door  opens  and  a 
large  plate  skims  out  straight  at  the  Frog's  head;  it  grazes  his 
nose  and  breaks  into  pieces.  Frog  acts  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened) Or  next  day,  maybe. 

ALICE.     How  am  I  to  get  in? 

FROG.  Are  you  to  get  in  at  all?  That's  the  first  question,  you 
know. 

ALICE.  It's  really  dreadful  the  way  all  you  creatures  argue. 
It's  enough  to  drive  one  crazy. 

FROG.     I  shall  sit  here,  on  and  off,  for  days  and  days. 

ALICE.     But  what  am  I  to  do? 

FROG.    Anything  you  like. 
[He  begins  to  whistle. 

ALICE.  Where's  the  servant  whose  business  it  is  to  answer  the 
door? 

FROG.     Which  door? 

ALICE.     This  door,  of  course! 

[The  Frog  looks  at  the  door,  and  rubs  his  thumb  on  it  to  see  if 
the  paint  will  come  off. 

FROG.     To  answer  the  door?    What's  it  been  asking  for? 

ALICE.     I  don't  know  what  you  mean. 

FROG.  I  speaks  English,  doesn't  *I?  Or  are  you  deaf?  What 
did  it  ask  you? 

ALICE.     Nothing!     I've  been  knocking  at  it. 

FROG.    Shouldn't  do  that  —  shouldn't  do  that,  —  vexes  it,  you 


412          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

know.  (He  kicks  the  door)  You  let  it  alone,  and  it'll  let 
you  alone,  you  know. 

ALICE.     Oh,  there's  no  use  talking  to  you 

[She  starts  to  open  the  door  just  as  the  Duchess  comes  out  carry- 
ing a  pig  in  baby's  clothes.  She  sneezes  —  Frog  sneezes  and 
Alice  sneezes. 

DUCHESS.     If  everybody  minded  her  own  business 

[She  sneezes. 

ALICE.     It's  pepper. 

DUCHESS.     Of  course,  my  cook  puts  it  in  the  soup. 

ALICE.     There's  certainly  too  much  pepper  in  the  soup. 

DUCHESS.  Sneeze  then  and  get  rid  of  it!  (Duchess  begins  to 
sing  to  the  Baby,  giving  it  a  violent  shake  at  the  end  of  every 
line  of  the  lullaby) 

"  Speak  roughly  to  your  little  boy, 
And  beat  him  when  he  sneezes; 

(Frog  and  Alice  sneeze) 

He  only  does  it  to  annoy, 
Because  he  knows  it  teases. 

(Duchess  sneezes,  Frog  sneezes,  Alice  sneezes) 

I  speak  severely  to  my  boy, 
I  beat  him  when  he  sneezes; 

(Frog  sneezes,  Alice  sneezes) 

For  he  can  thoroughly  enjoy 
The  pepper  when  he  pleases!" 

[Duchess  sneezes,  Frog  sneezes,  Alice  sneezes;    Duchess  gasps 

and  gives  a  tremendous  sneeze. 
ALICE.     Oh  dear!     (She  jumps  aside  as  kettles  and  pots  come 

flying  out  of  the  door.     The  Duchess  pays  no  attention)     What 

a  cook  to  have!     (She  calls  inside)     Oh!  please  mind  what 

you're  doing!     (Another  pan  comes  out  and  almost  hits  the 

Baby)     Oh!  there  goes  his  precious  nose! 
DUCHESS.     If  everybody  minded  her  own  business,  the  world 

would  go  round  a  deal  faster  than  it  does. 


Alice  in  Wonderland  413 

ALICE.  Which  would  not  be  an  advantage.  Just  think  what 
work  it  would  make  with  the  day  and  night!  You  see  the 
earth  takes  twenty-four  hours  to  turn  round  on  its  axis 

DUCHESS.     Talking  of  axes,  chop  off  her  head! 

[The  head  of  a  grinning  Cheshire  cat  appears  in  a  tree  above  a 
wall. 

ALICE.     Oh,  what's  that? 

DUCHESS.     Cat,  of  course. 

ALICE.     Why  does  it  grin  like  that? 

DUCHESS.     It's  a  Cheshire  cat!  and  that's  why.     (To  Baby) 

Pig! 

ALICE.     I  didn't  know  that  Cheshire  cats  always  grinned;   in 

fact,  I  didn't  know  that  cats  could  grin. 
DUCHESS.     They  all  can  and  most  of  'em  do. 
ALICE.     I  don't  know  of  any  that  do. 
DUCHESS.     You  don't  know  much  and  that's  a  fact.     Here, 

you  may  nurse  it  a  bit,  if  you  like!     (Flings  the  Baby  at 

Alice)     I  must  go  and  get  ready  to  play  croquet  with  the 

Queen. 

[She  goes  into  the  house. 
ALICE.     If  I  don't  take  this  child  away  with  me,  they're  sure 

to  kill  it  in  a  day  or  two.     Cheshire  Puss,  would  you  tell 

me,  please,  which  way  I  ought  to  walk  from  here? 
CAT.     That  depends  a  good  deal  on  where  you  want  to  get  to. 

ALICE.     I  don't  much  care  where 

CAT.     Then  it  doesn't  matter  which  way  you  walk. 

ALICE.     So  long  as  I  get  somewhere. 

CAT.     Oh,  you're  sure  to  do  that,  if  you  only  walk  long  enough. 

ALICE.     Please,  will  you  tell  me  what  sort  of  people  live  about 

here? 

CAT.    All  mad  people. 

ALICE.     But  I  don't  want  to  go  among  mad  people. 
CAT.     Oh,  you  can't  help  that;  we're  all  mad  here.     I'm  mad. 

He's  mad.     He's  dreaming  now,  and  what  do  you  think  he's 

dreaming  about? 
ALICE  (goes  to  the  Frog  to  scrutinize  his  face).     Nobody  could 

guess  that. 


414  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

CAT.     Why,  about  you!    And  if  he  left  off  dreaming  about 

you,  where  do  you  suppose  you'd  be? 
ALICE.     Where  I  am  now,  of  course. 
CAT.     Not  you.     You'd  be  nowhere.     Why,  you're  only  a  sort 

of  thing  in  his  dream;   and  you're  mad  too. 
ALICE.     How  do  you  know  I'm  mad? 
CAT.     You  must  be,  or  you  wouldn't  have  come  here. 
ALICE.     How  do  you  know  that  you're  mad? 
CAT.     To  begin  with,  a  dog's  not  mad.     You  grant  that? 
ALICE.     I  suppose  so. 
CAT.     Well,  then,  you  see  a  dog  growls  when  it's  angry,  and 

wags  its  tail  when  it's  pleased.     Now  I  growl  when  I'm 

pleased,  and  wag  my  tail  when  I'm  angry.     Therefore  I'm 

mad. 

ALICE.     I  call  it  purring,  not  growling. 
CAT.     Call  it  what  you  like.     Do  you  play  croquet  with  the 

Queen  to-day? 
ALICE.     I  should  like  it  very  much,  but  I  haven't  been  invited 

yet. 
CAT.    You'll  see  me  there. 

[Vanishes. 
ALICE  (to  squirming  Baby).     Oh,  dear,  it's  heavy  and  so  ugly. 

Don't  grunt  —  Oh  — Oh  —  it's  a  —  pig.     Please,  Mr.  Foot- 
man, take  it! 
FROG  (rises  with  dignity,  whistles  and  disappears  into  the  house; 

a  kettle  comes  bounding  out.     Alice  puts  pig  down  and  it 

crawls  off. 

CAT  (appearing  again).     By-the-bye,  what  became  of  the  baby? 
ALICE.     It  turned  into  a  pig. 
CAT.     I  thought  it  would. 

[Vanishes.     Frog  comes  out  of  the  house  with  hedgehogs  and 

flamingoes. 

CAT  (reappearing).     Did  you  say  pig,  or  fig? 
ALICE.     I  said  pig;   and  I  wish  you  wouldn't  keep  appearing 

and  vanishing  so  suddenly;  you  make  one  quite  giddy. 
CAT.     All  right. 

[It  vanishes  slowly.     Frog  puts  flamingoes  down  and  reenters 


Alice  in  Wonderland  415 

house.  While  Alice  is  examining  the  flamingoes  curiously, 
Tweedledum  and  Tweedledee,  each  with  an  arm  round  the  other's 
neck,  sidestep  in  and  stand  looking  at  Alice. 

ALICE  (turns,  sees  them,  starts  in  surprise  and  involuntarily  whis- 
pers).    Tweedle  —  dee. 

DUM.     Dum ! 

DEE.     If  you  think  we're  waxworks,  you  ought  to  pay. 

DUM.     Contrariwise,  if  you  think  we're  alive,  you  ought  to 
speak. 

DEE.    The  first  thing  in  a  visit  is  to  say  "How  d'ye  do?"  and 
shake  hands ! 

[The  brothers  give  each  other  a  hug,  then  hold  out  the  two  hands 
that  are  free,  to  shake  hands  with  her.  Alice  does  not  like 
shaking  hands  with  either  of  them  first,  for  fear  of  hurting  the 
other  one's  feelings;  she  takes  hold  of  both  hands  at  once,  and 
they  all  dance  round  in  a  ring,  quite  naturally  to  music:  "Here 
we  go  round  the  mulberry  bush." 

ALICE.     Would  you  tell  me  which  road  leads  out  of 

DEE.     What  shall  I  repeat  to  her? 

DUM.     The  "Walrus  and  the  Carpenter"  is  the  longest. 
[Gives  his  brother  an  affectionate  hug. 

DEE. 

The  sun  was  shining 

ALICE.     If  it's  very  long,  would  you  please  tell  me  first  which 

road 

DEE. 

The  moon  was  shining  sulkily. 
DUM. 

The  sea  was  wet  as  wet  could  be 

DEE. 

O  Oysters,  come  and  walk  with  us 
The  Walrus  did  beseech 

DUM  (looks  at  Dee). 

A  pleasant  walk,  a  pleasant  talk, 
Along  the  briny  beach 


416  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

DEE  (looks  at  Dum). 

The  eldest  Oyster  winked  his  eye 
And  shook  his  heavy  head 

DUM  (looks  at  Dee). 

Meaning  to  say  he  did  not  choose 

To  leave  the  oyster  bed. 
DEE. 

But  four  young  Oysters  hurried  up 

And  yet  another  four 

DUM. 

And  thick  and  fast  they  came  at  last, 

And  more,  and  more,  and  more 

DEE. 

The  Walrus  and  the  Carpenter 

Walked  on  a  mile  or  so, 
DUM. 

And  then  they  rested  on  a  rock 

Conveniently  low, 
DEE. 

And  all  the  little  Oysters  stood 

And  waited  in  a  row. 
DUM. 

"A  loaf  of  bread,"  the  Walrus  said, 

"Is  what  we  chiefly  need. 
DEE. 

Now  if  you're  ready,  Oysters  dear, 

We  can  begin  to  feed." 
DUM. 

"But  not  on  us!"  the  Oysters  cried, 
Turning  a  little  blue. 

DEE. 

"The  night  is  fine,"  the  Walrus  said, 
"Do  you  admire  the  view?" 

DUM. 

The  Carpenter  said  nothing  but 

"  Cut  us  another  slice. 
I  wish  you  were  not  quite  so  deaf  — 

I've  had  to  ask  you  twice!" 


"1 
it- 


in  Wonderland  417 

DEE. 

"It  seems  a  shame,"  the  Walrus  said, 

"To  play  them  such  a  trick, 
After  we've  brought  them  out  so  far, 

And  made  them  trot  so  quick!" 
BUM 

!O  Oysters,"  said  the  Carpenter, 

'You've  had  a  pleasant  run! 
DEE. 

Shall  we  be  trotting  home  again?  " 
DUM. 

But  answer  came  there  none 

DEE. 

And  this  was  scarcely  odd,  because 
DUM. 

They'd  eaten  every 

DEE  (interrupts  in  a  passion,  pointing  to  a  white  rattle  on  the 
ground).  Do  you  see  that? 

ALICE.     It's  only  a  rattle 

DUM  (stamps  wildly  and  tears  his  hair).     I  knew  it  was!     It's 
spoilt,  of  course.     My  nice  new  rattle!     (To  Dee)     You  agree 
to  have  a  battle? 
[He  collects  saucepans  and  pots. 

DEE  (picks  up  a  saucepan).    I  suppose  so.    Let's  fight  till 
dinner. 
[They  go  out  hand  in  hand. 

ALICE  (hears  music).  I  wonder  what  is  going  to  happen  next. 
[She  backs  down  stage  respectfully  as  the  King  and  Queen  of 
Hearts  enter,  followed  by  the  Knave  of  Hearts,  carrying  the 
King's  crown  on  a  crimson  velvet  cushion,  and  the  White  Rabbit 
and  others.  When  they  come  opposite  to  Alice  they  stop  and 
look  at  her.  The  Duchess  comes  out  of  her  house. 

QUEEN  (to  the  Knave).     Who  is  this? 

KNAVE  (bows  three  times,  smiles  and  giggles). 

QUEEN.     Idiot!    What's  your  name,  child? 

ALICE.     My  name  is  Alice,  so  please  your  Majesty. 

QUEEN.     Off  with  her  head !     Off 


418          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

ALICE.    Nonsense ! 

KING.     Consider,  my  dear,  she  is  only  a  child. 

QUEEN.     Can  you  play  croquet? 

ALICE.    Yes. 

QUEEN.  Come  on  then.  Get  to  your  places.  Where  are  the 
mallets? 

DUCHESS.    Here. 

[The  Frog  appears  with  the  flamingoes  and  hedgehogs. 

QUEEN.     Off  with  his  head! 
[Wo  one  pays  any  attention. 

KNAVE.     What  fun! 

ALICE.     What  is  the  fun? 

KNAVE.  Why,  she;  it's  all  her  fancy,  that.  They  never  exe- 
cute anyone. 

ALICE.     What  does  one  do? 

QUEEN.     Get  to  your  places! 

[She  takes  a  flamingo;  uses  its  neck  as  a  mallet  and  a  hedgehog 
as  a  ball.  The  Frog  doubles  himself  into  an  arch.  The  King 
does  the  same  with  the  followers,  and  the  Knave  offers  himself 
as  an  arch  for  Alice.  Even  though  Alice  does  not  notice  him, 
he  holds  the  arch  position.  The  Queen  shouts  at  intervals, 
"Off  with  his  head,  off  with  her  head." 

ALICE.     Where  are  the  Chess  Queens? 

RABBIT.     Under  sentence  of  execution. 

ALICE.     What  for? 

RABBIT.     Did  you  say,  "What  a  pity"  ? 

ALICE.  No,  I  didn't.  I  don't  think  it's  at  all  a  pity.  I  said, 
"What  for?" 

RABBIT.     They  boxed  the  Queen's  ears. 
[Alice  gives  a  little  scream  of  laughter. 

RABBIT.  Oh,  hush !  The  Queen  will  hear  you !  You  see  they 
came  rather  late  and  the  Queen  said  —  Oh,  dear,  the  Queen 

hears  me 

[He  hurries  away. 

ALICE  (noticing  the  Knave  who  still  pretends  to  be  an  arch).  How 
can  you  go  on  thinking  so  quietly,  with  your  head  down- 
wards? 


Alice  in  Wonderland  419 

KNAVE.  What  does  it  matter  where  my  body  happens  to  be? 
My  mind  goes  on  working  just  the  same.  The  fact  of  it  is, 
the  more  head  downwards  I  am,  the  more  I  keep  on  invent- 
ing new  things. 

KING.  Did  you  happen  to  meet  any  soldiers,  my  dear,  as  you 
came  through  the  wood? 

ALICE.     Yes,  I  did;  several  thousand,  I  should  think. 

KING.  Four  thousand,  two  hundred  and  seven,  —  that's  the 
exact  number.  They  couldn't  send  all  the  horses,  you  know, 
because  two  of  them  are  wanted  in  the  game.  And  I  haven't 
sent  the  two  messengers,  either. 

ALICE.     What's  the  war  about? 

KING.  The  red  Chess  King  has  the  whole  army  against  us,  but 
he  can't  kill  a  man  who  has  thirteen  hearts.  (The  Duchess, 
Queen,  Frog,  and  followers  go  out.  The  Knave  and  the  Five- 
Spot,  Seven-Spot,  and  Nine-Spot  of  Hearts  stand  behind  the 
King)  Just  look  along  the  road  and  tell  me  if  you  can  see 
either  of  my  messengers. 

ALICE.     I  see  nobody  on  the  road. 

KING.  I  only  wish  I  had  such  eyes;  to  be  able  to  see  Nobody! 
And  at  that  distance,  too!  Why,  it's  as  much  as  I  can  do 
to  see  real  people,  by  this  light. 

ALICE.  I  see  somebody  now!  But  he's  coming  very  slowly  — 
and  what  curious  attitudes  he  goes  into  —  skipping  up  and 
down,  and  wriggling  like  an  eel. 

KING.  Not  at  all,  —  those  are  Anglo-Saxon  attitudes.  He  only 
does  them  when  he's  happy.  I  must  have  two  mes- 
sengers, you  know  —  to  come  and  go.  One  to  come  and 
one  to  go. 

ALICE.     I  beg  your  pardon? 

KING.     It  isn't  respectable  to  beg. 

ALICE.  I  only  meant  that  I  didn't  understand.  Why  one  to 
come  and  one  to  go? 

KING.  Don't  I  tell  you?  I  must  have  two  — -  to  fetch  and 
carry.  One  to  fetch,  and  one  to  carry. 

MARCH  HARE  (enters,  pants  for  breath  —  waves  his  hands  about 
and  makes  fearful  faces  at  the  King). 


420  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

KING.  You  alarm  me!  I  feel  faint  —  give  me  a  ham  sand- 
wich. Another  sandwich! 

MARCH  HARE.     There's  nothing  but  hay  left  now. 

KING.  Hay,  then.  There's  nothing  like  eating  hay  when  you're 
faint. 

ALICE.  I  should  think  throwing  cold  water  over  you  would  be 
better. 

KING.  I  didn't  say  there  was  nothing  better;  I  said  there  was 
nothing  like  it. 

KING.     Who  did  you  pass  on  the  road? 

MARCH  HARE.       Nobody. 

KING.     Quite  right;    this  young  lady  saw  him,  too.     So,  of 

course,  Nobody  walks  slower  than  you. 
MARCH  HARE.     I  do  my  best;    I'm  sure  nobody  walks  much 

faster  than  I  do. 
KING.     He  can't  do  that;    or  else  he'd  have  been  here  first. 

However,  now  you've  got  your  breath,  you  may  tell  us  what's 

happened  in  the  town. 
MARCH  HARE.     I'll  whisper  it.     (Much  to  Alice's  surprise,  he 

shouts  into  the  King's  ear)     They're  at  it  again! 
KING.     Do  you  call  that  a  whisper?     If  you  do  such  a  thing 

again,  I'll  have  you  buttered.     It  went  through  and  through 

my  head  like  an  earthquake.     Give  me  details,  quick ! 

[The  King  and  March  Hare  go  out,  followed  by  Five-,  Seven-,  and 

Nine-Spots. 
DUCHESS  (runs  in  and  tucks  her  arm  affectionately  into  Alice's). 

You  can't  think  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  again,  you  dear 

old  thing! 
ALICE.  Oh! 
DUCHESS.  You're  thinking  about  something,  my  dear,  and  that 

makes  you  forget  to  talk.     I  can't  tell  you  just  now  what 

the  moral  of  that  is,  but  I  shall  remember  it  in  a  bit. 
ALICE.     Perhaps  it  hasn't  one. 
DUCHESS.     Tut,  tut,  child!     Everything's  got  a  moral,  if  only 

you  can  find  it. 

[Squeezes  closely,  digs  her  chin  into  Alice's  shoulder,  and  roughly 

drags  Alice  along  for  a  walk. 


Alice  in  Wonderland  421 

ALICE.     The  game  s  going  on  rather  better  now. 

DUCHESS.  'Tis  so,  and  the  moral  of  that  is  —  "Oh,  'tis  love, 
'tis  love,  that  makes  the  world  go  round!" 

ALICE.  Somebody  said  that  it's  done  by  everybody  minding 
their  own  business. 

DUCHESS.  Ah,  well!  It  means  much  the  same  thing,  and  the 
moral  of  that  is  —  "Take  care  of  the  sense,  and  the  sounds 
will  take  care  of  themselves." 

ALICE.     How  fond  you  are  of  finding  morals  in  things. 

DUCHESS.  I  dare  say  you're  wondering  why  I  don't  put  my  arm 
round  your  waist.  The  reason  is  that  I'm  doubtful  about 
the  temper  of  your  flamingo.  Shall  I  try  the  experiment? 

ALICE.     He  might  bite. 

DUCHESS.  Very  true;  flamingoes  and  mustard  both  bite.  And 
the  moral  of  that  is  —  "Birds  of  a  feather  flock  together." 

ALICE.     Only  mustard  isn't  a  bird. 

DUCHESS.  Right,  as  usual;  what  a  clear  way  you  have  of  put- 
ting things. 

ALICE.     It's  a  mineral,  I  think. 

DUCHESS.  Of  course  it  is;  there's  a  large  mustard  mine  near 
here.  And  the  moral  of  that  is  —  "The  more  there  is  of 
mine,  the  less  there  is  of  yours." 

ALICE.  Oh !  I  know,  it's  a  vegetable.  It  doesn't  look  like  one, 
but  it  is. 

DUCHESS.  I  quite  agree  with  you,  and  the  moral  of  that  is  — 
"Be  what  you  would  seem  to  be";  or,  if  you'd  like  it  put 
more  simply,  "Never  imagine  yourself  not  to  be  otherwise 
than  what  it  might  appear  to  others  that  what  you  were  or 
might  have  been  was  not  otherwise  than  what  you  had  been 
would  have  appeared  to  them  to  be  otherwise." 

ALICE.  I  think  I  should  understand  that  better  if  I  had  it 
written  down,  but  I  can't  quite  follow  it  as  you  say  it. 

DUCHESS.     That's  nothing  to  what  I  could  say  if  I  chose. 

ALICE.  Pray  don't  trouble  yourself  to  say  it  any  longer  than 
that. 

DUCHESS.  Oh,  don't  talk  about  trouble;  I  make  you  a  present 
of  everything  I've  said  as  yet. 


A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

ALICE.    Uhm! 

DUCHESS.     Thinking  again? 

ALICE.     I've  got  a  right  to  think. 

DUCHESS.  Just  about  as  much  right  as  pigs  have  to  fly,  and 
the  moral  —  (The  arm  of  the  Duchess  begins  to  tremble  and 
her  voice  dies  down.  The  Queen  of  Hearts  stands  before  them 
with  folded  arms  and  frowning  like  a  thunder-storm)  A  fine 
day,  your  Majesty. 

QUEEN.  Now,  I  give  you  fair  warning,  either  you  or  your  head 
must  be  off,  and  that  in  about  half  no  time.  Take  your 
choice!  (The  Duchess  goes  meekly  into  the  house)  Let's  go  on 
with  the  game. 

[She  goes  off,  and  shouts  at  intervals,  "Off  with  his  head;   off 
with  her  head." 

CAT.     How  are  you  getting  on? 

ALICE.  It's  no  use  speaking  to  you  till  your  ears  have  come. 
I  don't  think  they  play  at  all  fairly,  and  they  all  quarrel  so, 
and  they  don't  seem  to  have  any  rules  in  particular.  And 
you've  no  idea  how  confusing  it  is,  with  all  the  things  alive; 
there's  the  arch  I've  got  to  go  through  next,  walking  about  at 
the  other  end  of  the  ground  —  and  I  should  have  croqueted 
the  Queen's  hedgehog,  just  now,  only  it  ran  away  when  it 
saw  mine  coming. 
[Music  begins. 

CAT.     How  do  you  like  the  Queen? 

ALICE.  Not  at  all;  she's  so  extremely —  (The  King,  Queen 
and  entire  Court  enter.  The  Queen  is  near  to  Alice.  The  music 
stops,  and  all  look  at  Alice,  questioningly.  Alice  tries  to  pro- 
pitiate the  Queen)  —  likely  to  win,  (music  continues)  that  it's 
hardly  worth  while  finishing  the  game. 
[Queen  smiles  and  passes  on. 

KING.     Who  are  you  talking  to? 

ALICE.  It's  a  friend  of  mine  —  a  Cheshire  Cat  —  allow  me  to 
introduce  it. 

KING.  I  don't  like  the  look  of  it  at  all;  however,  it  may  kiss 
my  hand  if  it  likes. 

CAT.     I'd  rather  not. 


Alice  in  Wonderland  423 

KING.     Don't  be  impertinent  and  don't  look  at  me  like  that. 
ALICE.     A  cat  may  look  at  a  king.     I've  read  that  in  some 

book,  but  I  don't  remember  where. 
KING.     Well,  it  must  be  removed.     My  dear!    I  wish  you 

would  have  this  cat  removed. 
QUEEN.     Off  with  his  head! 
KNAVE.     But  you  can't  cut  off  a  head  unless  there's  a  body  to 

cut  it  off  from. 

KING.     Anything  that  has  a  head  can  be  beheaded. 
QUEEN.     If  something  isn't  done  about  it  in  less  than  no  time, 

I'll  have  everybody  executed,  all  round. 

ALICE.     It  belongs  to  the  Duchess ;  you'd  better  ask  her  about  it. 
DUCHESS.     It's  a  lie! 
CAT.     You'd  better  ask  me.     Do  it  if  you  can. 

[It  grins  away.     The  Duchess  and  Frog  escape  into  the  house. 

QUEEN.      Cut  it  Off! 

KING.     It's  gone. 

EVERYBODY.     It's  gone !     It's  gone !    Where,  where,  where 

QUEEN.     Cut  it  off.     Cut  them  all  off! 

EVERYBODY.    No,  no,  no! 

ALICE.     Save  me,  save  me! 

KNAVE  (shouts  to  Alice  and  gives  her  a  tart  for  safety).  Take  a 
tart! 

QUEEN  (seeing  Alice  stand  out  a  moment  from  the  others).  Cut 
hers  off!  Cut  hers  off! 

OTHERS  (glad  to  distract  Queen's  attention  from  themselves).  Cut 
hers  off,  cut  hers  off,  cut • 

ALICE  [Cries  in  fear  and  takes  a  quick  bite  at  the  tart.  If  there 
is  a  trap-door  on  the  stage,  Alice  disappears  down  it,  leaving  the 
crowd  circling  around  the  hole,  screaming  and  amazed.  If  the 
stage  has  no  trap-door,  a  bridge  is  built  across  the  footlights, 
with  stairs  leading  down  into  the  orchestra  pit.  When  the 
crowd  is  chasing  Alice,  she  jumps  over  the  footlights  onto  th& 
bridge,  and,  as  the  curtain  is  falling,  dividing  her  from  the 
crowd,  she  appeals  to  the  audience,  "Save  me,  save  me,  who 
will  save  me?  "  and  runs  down  the  stairs  and  disappears. 

CURTAIN 


424          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

ACT  III 

SCENE  I 

Is  a  garden  of  high,  very  conventional  and  artificial  looking 
flowers.     On  a  large  mushroom  sits  the  Caterpillar,  smoking  a 
hookah.     Alice  is  whirling  about,  trying  to  get  her  equilibrium 
after  her  fall.     She  goes  to  the  mushroom  timidly,  and,  conscious 
of  her  size,  for  her  chin  reaches  the  top  of  the  mushroom,  she  gazes 
at  the  Caterpillar  wonderingly.    He  looks  at  her  lazily,  and  speaks 
in  a  languid  voice. 
CATERPILLAR.    Who  are  you? 
ALICE.     I  —  I  hardly  know,  sir,  just  at  present.     The  Queen 

frightened  me  so,  and  I've  had  an  awfully  funny  fall  down 

a  tunnel  or  a  sort  of  weLL     At  least  I  know  who  I  was  when 

I  got  up  this  morning,  but  I  think  I  must  have  been  changed 

several  times  since  then. 

CATERPILLAR.     What  do  you  mean  by  that?     Explain  yourself. 
ALICE.     I  can't  explain  myself,  I'm   afraid,  sir,  because   I'm 

not  myself,  you  see.     Being  so  many  different  sizes  in  a  day 

is  very  confusing. 

CATERPILLAR.     You!    Who  are  you? 
ALICE.     I  think  you  ought  to  tell  me  who  you  are,  first. 
CATERPILLAR.     Why?     (As   Alice   turns   away)     Come    back. 

I've  something  important  to  say.     (Alice  comes  back)     Keep 

your  temper. 
ALICE.     Is  that  all? 
CATERPILLAR.     No.     (He  puffs  at  the  hookah  in  silence;  finally 

takes  it  out  of  his  mouth  and  unfolds  his  arms)     So  you  think 

you're  changed,  do  you? 

ALICE.     I'm  afraid  I  am,  sir;  I  don't  keep  the  same  size. 
CATERPILLAR.     What  size  do  you  want  to  be? 
ALICE.     I  don't  know.     At  least  I've  never  been  so  small  as  a 

caterpillar. 

CATERPILLAR  (rears  angrily).     It  is  a  very  good  height  indeed. 
ALICE.     But  I'm  not  used  to  it;  I  wish  you  wouldn't  all  be  so 

easily  offended. 


Alice  in  Wonderland  425 

CATERPILLAR.     You'll  get  used  to  it  in  time. 
ALICE.    Are  you  too  big  or  am  I  too  small? 

[She  compares  her  height  wonderingly  with  the  tall  flowers. 
CATERPILLAR  (looks  at  her  sleepily,  yawns,  shakes  himself,  slides 

down  from  the  mushroom,  and  crawls  slowly  away).     One  side 

will  make  you  grow  taller,  and  the  other  side  will  make  you 

grow  shorter. 

ALICE.     One  side  of  what?     The  other  side  of  what? 
CATERPILLAR.     Of  the  mushroom. 

[Alice  hesitates,  then  embraces  mushroom  and  picks  bit  from 

each  side.     Three  Gardeners,  representing  spades,  enter,  carry- 
ing brushes  and  red  paint  cans. 
TWO-SPOT.     Look  out  now,  Five.     Don't  go  splashing  paint  over 

me  like  that. 

FIVE-SPOT.     I  couldn't  help  it.     Seven  jogged  my  elbow. 
SEVEN-SPOT.     That's  right,   Five,   always  lay  the  blame  on 

others. 
FIVE-SPOT.    You'd  better  not  talk.     I  heard  the  Queen  say 

only  yesterday  you  deserved  to  be  beheaded. 
TWO-SPOT.     What  for? 

SEVEN-SPOT.     That's  none  of  your  business,  Two. 
FIVE-SPOT.     Yes,  it  is  his  business,  and  I'll  tell  him.     It  was 

for  bringing  the  cook  tulip  roots  instead  of  onions. 
SEVEN-SPOT.     Well,  of  all  the  unjust  things 

[Sees  Alice;  others  look  around:  all  bow. 
ALICE.     Could  you  please  tell  me  what  side  to  eat? 

[Five  and  Seven  look  at  Two. 
TWO-SPOT.     I  don't  know  anything  about  it.     (He  paints  a 

white  rose,  red)     You  ought  to  have  been  red ;  we  put  you  in 

by  mistake,  and,  if  the  Queen  was  to  find  it  out,  we  should 

all  have  our  heads  cut  off. 

[A  thumping  is  heard  off  stage  and  the  music  grows  louder  and 

louder. 

ALICE.     What's  that? 
FIVE-SPOT.     The  White  Chess  Queen. 
SEVEN-SPOT.     Don't  let  her  see  what  we  are  doing. 
TWO-SPOT.     She'll  tell  on  us. 


426  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

SEVEN-SPOT.     Run  out  and  stop  her  from  coming  here. 

FIVE-SPOT  (to  Alice  as  she  runs  to  the  right).  No,  no,  the  other 
way. 

ALICE.     But  she's  off  there! 

TWO-SPOT.     You  can  only  meet  her  by  walking  the  other  way. 

ALICE.     Oh!  what  nonsense. 

ALL  THE  GARDENERS.     Go  the  other  way! 

ALICE  (r  centers  in  dismay  and  dashes  out  to  the  left).  She's  run- 
ning away  from  me.  (The  White  Queen  backs  in  from  right 
and  Alice  backs  in  from  left.  They  meet.  The  Gardeners  cry, 
"The  Queen,"  and  throw  themselves  flat  upon  the  ground;  their 
backs  are  like  the  backs  of  the  rest  of  the  pack.  Music  stops. 
Alice  looks  at  the  Queen  curiously)  Oh,  there  you  are!  Why, 
I'm  just  the  size  I  was  when  I  saw  you  last. 

WHITE  QUEEN.  Of  course  you  are,  and  who  are  these?  I  can't 
tell  them  by  their  backs.  (She  turns  them  over  with  her  foot) 
Turn  over.  Ah!  I  thought  so!  Get  up!  What  have  you 
been  doing  here? 

TWO-SPOT.     May  it  please  your  Majesty,  we  were  trying  — 

WHITE  QUEEN  (examines  rose) .  I  see !  Begone,  or  I'll  send  the 
horses  after  you,  and  tell  the  Queen  of  Hearts. 
[Gardeners  rush  off.  The  Red  Queen  enters.  Alice  has  gone  to 
the  mushroom  again  to  look  at  its  sides,  and  there  to  her  amaze- 
ment finds  a  gold  crown  and  scepter,  which  she  immediately 
appropriates.  Music.  The  Queens  watch  Alice  superciliously. 
Alice  puts  on  her  crown,  proudly  exclaiming,  in  great  elation, 
"Queen  Alice,"  and  walks  down  stage,  bowing  right  and  left  to 
the  homage  of  imaginary  subjects.  She  repeats,  as  if  scarcely 
daring  to  believe  it  true,  "Queen  Alice."  Music  stops. 

RED  QUEEN.     Ridiculous! 

ALICE.     Isn't  this  the  Eighth  Square? 

RED  QUEEN.  You  can't  be  a  Queen,  you  know,  till  you've 
passed  the  proper  examination. 

WHITE  QUEEN.     The  sooner  we  begin  it,  the  better. 

ALICE.     Please,  would  you  tell  me  - 

RED  QUEEN.     Speak  when  you're  spoken  to. 

ALICE.     But  if  everybody  obeyed  that  rule,  and  if  you  only 


Alice  in  Wonderland  427 

spoke  when  you  were  spoken  to,  and  the  other  person  always 
waited  for  you  to  begin,  you  see  nobody  would  ever  say 
anything,  so  that 

RED    QUEEN.       Preposterous. 

ALICE.     I  only  said  "if." 

RED  QUEEN.     She  says  she  only  said  "if." 

WHITE  QUEEN  (moans  and  wrings  her  hands).     But  she  said  a 

great  deal  more  than  that.     Ah,  yes,  so  much  more  than 

that. 
RED  QUEEN.     So  you  did,  you  know;  always  speak  the  truth  — 

think  before  you  speak  —  and  write  it  down  afterwards. 

ALICE.     I'm  sure  I  didn't  mean 

RED  QUEEN.     That's  just  what  I  complained  of.     You  should 

have  meant!    What  do  you  suppose  is  the  use  of  a  child 

without  any  meaning?  Even  a  joke  should  have  some  mean- 
ing —  and  a  child's  more  important  than  a  joke,  I  hope. 

You  couldn't  deny  that,  even  if  you  tried  with  both  hands. 
ALICE.     I  don't  deny  things  with  my  hands. 
RED  QUEEN.     Nobody  said  you  did.     I  said  you  couldn't  if 

you  tried. 
WHITE  QUEEN.     She's  in  that  state  of  mind,  that  she  wants  to 

deny  something  —  only  she  doesn't  know  what  to  deny! 
RED  QUEEN.     A  nasty,  vicious  temper.     I  invite  you  to  Alice's 

dinner  party  this  afternoon. 
WHITE  QUEEN.     And  I  invite  you. 
ALICE.     I  didn't  know  I  was  to  have  a  party  at  all;    but,  if 

there  is  to  be  one,  I  think  I  ought  to  invite  the  guests. 
RED  QUEEN.     We  gave  you  the  opportunity  of  doing  it,  but  I 

dare  say  you've  not  had  many  lessons  in  manners  yet. 
ALICE.     Manners  are  not  taught  in  lessons;   lessons  teach  you 

to  do  sums,  and  things  of  that  sort. 
WHITE  QUEEN.     Can  you  do  addition?    What's  one  and  one 

and  one  and  one  and  one  and  one  and  one  and  one  and  one 

and  one? 

ALICE.     I  don't  know.     I  lost  count. 
RED  QUEEN.     She  can't  do  addition;  can  you  do  subtraction? 

Take  nine  from  eight. 


428  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

ALICE.     Nine  from  eight  I  can't,  you  know,  but 

WHITE  QUEEN.     She  can't  do  subtraction.     Can  you  do  division? 

Divide  a  loaf  by  a  knife  —  what's  the  answer  to  that? 

ALICE.     I  suppose 

RED  QUEEN  (answers  for  her).     Bread  and  butter,  of  course. 

Try  another  subtraction  sum.     Take  a  bone  from  a  dog; 

what  remains? 
ALICE.     The  bone  wouldn't  remain,  of  course,  if  I  took  it  — 

and  the  dog  wouldn't  remain;  it  would  come  to  bite  me  — 

and  I'm  sure  I  shouldn't  remain. 
RED  QUEEN.     Then  you  think  nothing  would  remain? 
ALICE.     I  think  that's  the  answer. 
RED  QUEEN.     Wrong  as  usual;  the  dog's  temper  would  remain. 

ALICE.     But  I  don't  see  how 

RED  QUEEN.    Why,  look  here;   the  dog  would  lose  its  temper, 

wouldn't  it? 

ALICE.     Perhaps  it  would. 
RED  QUEEN.     Then,  if  the  dog  went  away,  its  temper  would 

remain! 

ALICE.     They  might  go  different  ways!    What  dreadful  non- 
sense we  are  talking. 

BOTH  QUEENS.     She  can't  do  sums  a  bit! 
ALICE.     Can  you  do  sums? 
WHITE  QUEEN.     I  can  do  addition,  if  you  give  me  time  —  but  I 

can't  do  subtraction  under  any  circumstances. 
RED  QUEEN.     Of  course  you  know  your  A,  B,  C? 
ALICE.     To  be  sure  I  do. 
WHITE  QUEEN.     So  do  I;  we'll  often  say  it  over  together,  dear. 

And  I'll  tell  you  a  secret  —  I  can  read  words  of  one  letter. 

Isn't  that  grand?    However,  don't  be  discouraged.     You'll 

come  to  it  in  time. 
RED  QUEEN.     Can  you  answer  useful  questions?    How  is  bread 

made? 

ALICE.     I  know  that!    You  take  some  flour 

WHITE  QUEEN.     Where  do  you  pick  the  flower?     In  a  garden 

or  in  the  hedges? 
ALICE.     Well,  it  isn't  picked  at  all.     It's  ground 


Alice  in  Wonderland  429 

WHITE  QUEEN.  How  many  acres  of  ground?  You  mustn't 
leave  out  so  many  things. 

RED  QUEEN.     Fan  her  head!     She'll  be  feverish  after  so  much 
thinking. 
[They  fan  her  with  bunches  of  leaves  which  blow  her  hair  wildly. 

ALICE.     Please  —  please  — 

RED  QUEEN.  She's  all  right  again  noW.  Do  you  know  lan- 
guages? What's  the  French  for  fiddle-de-dee? 

ALICE.     Fiddle-de-dee's  not  English. 

RED  QUEEN.     Who  ever  said  it  was? 

ALICE.  If  you  tell  me  what  language  fiddle-de-dee  is,  I'll  tell 
you  the  French  for  it! 

RED  QUEEN.     Queens  never  make  bargains! 

ALICE.     I  wish  queens  never  asked  questions! 

WHITE  QUEEN.  Don't  let  us  quarrel;  what  is  the  cause  of  light- 
ning? 

ALICE.  The  cause  of  lightning  is  the  thunder  —  no,  no!  I 
meant  the  other  way. 

RED  QUEEN.  It's  too  late  to  correct  it;  when  you've  once  said 
a  thing,  that  fixes  it,  and  you  must  take  the  consequences. 

WHITE  QUEEN.  We  had  such  a  thunder-storm  next  Tuesday, 
you  can't  think. 

RED  QUEEN.     She  never  could,  you  know. 

WHITE  QUEEN.  Part  of  the  roof  came  off,  and  ever  so  much 
thunder  got  in  —  and  it  went  rolling  round  the  room  in  great 
lumps  —  and  knocking  over  the  tables  and  things  —  till  I 
was  so  frightened,  I  couldn't  remember  my  own  name! 

ALICE.  I  never  should  try  to  remember  my  name  in  the  mid- 
dle of  an  accident.  Where  would  be  the  use  of  it? 

RED  QUEEN.  You  must  excuse  her.  She  means  well,  but  she 
can't  help  saying  foolish  things,  as  a  general  rule.  She  never 
was  really  well  brought  up,  but  it's  amazing  how  good-tem- 
pered she  is !  Pat  her  on  the  head,  and  see  how  pleased  she'll 
be!  A  little  kindness  and  putting  her  hair  in  papers  would 
do  wonders  with  her. 

WHITE  QUEEN  (gives  a  deep  sigh  and  leans  her  head  on  Alice's 
shoulder).  I  am  so  sleepy! 


430          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

RED  QUEEN.  She's  tired,  poor  thing;  smooth  her  hair  —  lend 
her  your  nightcap  —  and  sing  her  a  soothing  lullaby. 

ALICE.  I  haven't  got  a  nightcap  with  me,  and  I  don't  know 
any  soothing  lullabies. 

RED  QUEEN.     I  must  do  it  myself,  then. 

Hush-a-by  lady,  in  Alice's  lap ! 
Till  the  feast's  ready,  we've  time  for  a  nap; 
When  the  feast's  over,  we'll  go  to  the  ball  — 
Red  Queen  and  White  Queen  and  Alice  and  all! 

And  now  you  know  the  words  (she  puts  her  head  on  Alice's 

other  shoulder),   just   sing  it  through  to  me.     I'm  getting 

sleepy  too. 

[Both  Queens  fall  fast  asleep  and  snore  loudly. 
ALICE.     What  am  I  to  do?     Take  care  of  two  Queens  asleep 

at  once?     Do  wake  up,  you  heavy  things! 

[All  lights  go  out,  leaving  a  mysterious  glow  on  Alice  and  the 

Queens. 

WHITE  RABBIT  (blows  trumpet  off  stage).     The  trial's  beginning! 
ALICE.     What  trial  is  it? 
WHITE  RABBIT.     Who  stole  the  tarts? 
ALICE.     I  ate  a  tart. 
WHITE  RABBIT.     You've  got  to  be  tried. 
ALICE.     I  don't  want  to  be  tried. 
WHITE  RABBIT.     You've  got  to  be  tried. 
ALICE.     I  won't  be  tried  —  I  won't  —  I  won't ! 

SCENE  II 

7s  a  court-room,  suggesting  playing  cards.  The  Jurymen  are 
all  kinds  of  creatures.  The  King  and  Queen  of  Hearts  are  seated 
on  the  throne.  The  Knave  is  before  them  in  chains.  The  White 
Rabbit  has  a  trumpet  in  one  hand,  and  a  scroll  of  parchment  in 
the  other.  In  the  middle  of  the  court  stands  a  table  with  a  large 
dish  of  tarts  upon  it. 
WHITE  RABBIT  (blows  three  blasts  on  his  trumpet).  Silence  in 

the  court! 
ALICE  (watches  Jurymen  writing  busily  on  their  slates).     What 


Alice  in  Wonderland  431 

are  they  doing?     They  can't  have  anything  to  put  down  yet, 

before  the  trial's  begun. 
KNAVE.     They're  putting  down  their  names  for  fear  they  should 

forget  them  before  the  end  of  the  trial. 
ALICE.     Stupid  things ! 
WHITE  RABBIT.     Silence  in  the  court ! 
JURORS  (write  in  chorus).     Stupid  things! 
ONE  JUROR.     How  do  you  spell  stupid? 
ALICE.     A  nice  muddle  their  slates  will  be  in  before  the  trial 's 

over. 

QUEEN.     There's  a  pencil  squeaking.     Cut  it  down! 
JURORS  (in  chorus  as  they  write) .     Squeaking  — 
KING  (wears  a  crown  over  his  wig;   puts  on  his  spectacles  as  he 

says).     Herald,  read  the  accusation! 
WHITE  RABBIT  (blows  three  blasts  on  his  trumpet,  unrolls  parch- 

ment  scroll,  and  reads  to  music) . 

The  Queen  of  Hearts,  she  made  some  tarts, 

All  on  a  summer  day; 
The  Knave  of  Hearts,  he  stole  those  tarts, 

And  took  them  quite  away ! 

KING.     Consider  your  verdict ! 

WHITE  RABBIT.    Not  yet,  not  yet;  there's  a  great  deal  to  come 

before  that. 

KING.     Call  the  first  witness. 
WHITE  RABBIT.     First  witness! 
HATTER  (comes  in  with  a  teacup  in  one  hand  and  a  piece  of  bread 

and  butter  in  the  other).     I  beg  your  pardon,  your  Majesty, 

for  bringing  these  in,  but  I  hadn't  quite  finished  my  tea 

when  I  was  sent  for. 

KING.     You  ought  to  have  finished;  when  did  you  begin? 
HATTER  (looks  at   the   March  Hare,  who  follows   him  arm  in 

arm  with  the  Dormouse).     Fourteenth  of  March,  I  think  it 

was. 

MARCH  HARE.     Fifteenth. 
DORMOUSE.     Sixteenth. 
KING.     Write  that  down. 


432          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

JURY.  Fourteen,  fifteen,  sixteen  —  forty-five.  Reduce  that  to 
shillings 

KING.     Take  off  your  hat. 

HATTER.     It  isn't  mine. 

KING.     Stolen! 

JURY.     Stolen ! 

HATTER.  I  keep  them  to  sell.  I've  none  of  my  own.  I'm  a 
hatter. 

QUEEN  OF  HEARTS  (puts  on  her  spectacles  and  stares  at  Hatter, 
who  fidgets  uncomfortably). 

KING.  Give  your  evidence  and  don't  be  nervous,  or  I'll  have 
you  executed  on  the  spot. 

[The  Hatter  continues  to  shift  nervously  from  one  foot  to  the 
other,  looks  uneasily  at  the  Queen,  trembles  so  that  he  shakes  off 
both  of  his  shoes,  and  in  his  confusion  bites  a  large  piece  out  of 
his  teacup  instead  of  the  bread  and  butter. 

HATTER.  I'm  a  poor  man,  your  Majesty,  and  I  hadn't  but 
just  begun  my  tea  —  not  above  a  week  or  so  —  and  what 
with  the  bread  and  butter  getting  so  thin  —  and  the  twink- 
ling of  the  tea 

KING.     The  twinkling  of  what? 

HATTER.     It  began  with  the  tea. 

KING.  Of  course  twinkling  begins  with  a  T.  Do  you  take  me 
for  a  dunce?  Go  on! 

HATTER.  I'm  a  poor  man  and  most  things  twinkled  after  that 
—  only  the  March  Hare  said 

MARCH  HARE.     I  didn't! 

HATTER.      YOU  did. 

MARCH  HARE.     I  deny  it. 

KING.     He  denies  it;  leave  out  that  part. 

QUEEN.     But  what  did  the  Dormouse  say? 

HATTER.     That  I  can't  remember. 

KING.     You  must  remember  or  I'll  have  you  executed. 

HATTER  (drops  teacup  and  bread  and  butter  and  goes  down  on 

one  Tcnee).     I'm  a  poor  man,  your  Majesty. 
KING.     If  that's  all  you  know  about  it  you  may  stand  down. 
HATTER.     I  can't  go  no  lower;   I'm  on  the  floor  as  it  is. 


Alice  in  Wonderland  433 

KING.    Then  you  may  sit  down. 
HATTER.     I'd  rather  finish  my  tea. 
KING.    You  may  go. 

[The  Hatter  goes  out  hurriedly,  leaving  one  of  his  shoes  behind. 
QUEEN  (nonchalantly  to  an  Officer).    And  just  take  his  head 

off  outside. 

[But  the  Hatter  is  out  of  sight  before  the  Officer  can  get  to 

the  door. 

KING.     Call  the  next  witness ! 
WHITE  RABBIT.    Next  witness! 

[The  Duchess  enters  with  a  pepper-pot,  which  she  shakes  about. 

Everybody  begins  to  sneeze.    March  Hare  sneezes  and  rushes  out. 
KING.     Give  your  evidence! 
DUCHESS.     Sha'n't ! 

WHITE  RABBIT.     Your  Majesty  must  cross-examine  this  witness. 
KING.    Well,  if  I  must,  I  must.     What  does  your  cook  say 

tarts  are  made  of? 
DUCHESS.     Pepper. 

[The  Duchess  shakes  the  pot  and  the  court  sneezes. 
DORMOUSE  .     Treacle ! 

[The  Duchess  shakes  the  pot  at  him.  He  sneezes  for  the  first  time. 
QUEEN.     Collar  the  Dormouse !    Behead  the  Dormouse !    Turn 

that  Dormouse  out  of  court!    Suppress  him!    Pinch  him! 

Off  with  his  whiskers! 

[The  whole  court  is  in  confusion,  turning  the  Dormouse  out, 

and,  while  it  is  settling  down  again,  the  Duchess  disappears. 
WHITE  RABBIT.    The  Duchess ! 
COURT.     She's  gone  —  she's  gone ! 
KING.     Never  mind!     (In  a  low  tone  to  the  Queen}     Really,  my 

dear,  you  must  cross-examine  the  next  witness.     It  quite 

makes  my  forehead  ache!     Call  the  next  witness! 
WHITE  RABBIT  (fumbles  with  the  parchment,  —  then  cries  in  a 

shrill  little  voice).     Alice! 
ALICE.     Here ! 

KING.     What  do  you  know  about  this  business? 
ALICE.     Nothing  whatever. 
KING  (to  the  Jury).    That  's  very  important. 


434          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

WHITE  RABBIT.     Unimportant,  your  Majesty  means,  of  course. 

KING.  Unimportant,  of  course  I  meant.  Important  —  unim- 
portant—  unimportant  —  important.  Consider  your  ver- 
dict! 

[Some  of  the  Jury  write  "important"  and  some  write  "unim- 
portant" 

WHITE  RABBIT.  There's  more  evidence  to  come  yet,  please 
your  Majesty;  this  paper  has  just  been  picked  up. 

QUEEN.     What's  in  it? 

WHITE  RABBIT  (fumbles  with  a  huge  envelope).  I  haven't  opened 
it  yet,  but  it  seems  to  be  a  letter,  written  by  the  prisoner 
to  —  to  somebody. 

KING.  It  must  have  been  that,  unless  it  was  written  to  nobody, 
which  isn't  usual,  you  know. 

ALICE.     Who  is  it  directed  to? 

WHITE  RABBIT.  It  isn't  directed  at  all;  in  fact,  there's  noth- 
ing written  on  the  outside.  (Takes  out  a  tiny  piece  of  paper) 
It  isn't  a  letter  at  all;  it's  a  set  of  verses. 

QUEEN.     Are  they  in  the  prisoner's  handwriting? 
[The  Jury  brightens  up. 

WHITE  RABBIT   (Looks  at  the  Knave's  hand.     Knave  hides  his 
hand;    the  chains  rattle).     No,  they're  not,  and  that's  the 
queerest  thing  about  it. 
[The  Jury  looks  puzzled. 

KING.     He  must  have  imitated  somebody  else's  hand ! 

KNAVE.  Please,  your  Majesty,  I  didn't  write  it  and  they  can't 
prove  I  did;  there's  no  name  signed  at  the  end. 

KING.     If  you  didn't  sign  it  that  only  makes  the  matter  worse. 
You  must  have  meant  some  mischief,  or  else  you'd  have 
signed  your  name  like  an  honest  man. 
[At  this  there  is  a  general  clapping  of  hands. 

QUEEN.     That  proves  his  guilt. 

ALICE.  It  proves  nothing  of  the  sort!  Why,  you  don't  even 
know  what  they're  about. 

KING.     Read  them ! 

WHITE  RABBIT  (puts  on  his  monocle).  Where  shall  I  begin, 
please  your  Majesty? 


Alice  in  Wonderland  435 

KING.  Begin  at  the  beginning  and  go  on  till  you  come  to  the 
end,  then  stop. 

WHITE   RABBIT. 

"They  told  me  you  had  been  to  her, 

And  mentioned  me  to  him ; 

She  gave  me  a  good  character, 

But  said  I  could  not  swim. 

"I  gave  her  one,  they  gave  him  two, 

You  gave  us  three  or  more; 
They  all  returned  from  him  to  you, 
Though  they  were  mine  before. 

"My  notion  was  that  you  had  been 

(Before  she  had  this  fit) 
An  obstacle  that  came  between 
Him,  and  ourselves,  and  it. 

"Don't  let  him  know  she  liked  him  best, 

For  this  must  ever  be 
A  secret,  kept  from  all  the  rest, 
Between  yourself  and  me." 

KING.  That's  the  most  important  piece  of  evidence  we've 
heard  yet;  so  now  let  the  jury 

ALICE.  If  anyone  of  them  can  explain  it,  I'll  give  him  six- 
pence. I  don't  believe  there's  an  atom  of  meaning  in  it. 

JURY.     She  doesn't  believe  there's  an  atom  of  meaning  in  it. 

KING.  If  there's  no  meaning  in  it,  that  saves  a  world  of  trouble, 
you  know,  as  we  needn't  try  to  find  any.  And  yet  I  don't 
know.  (Spreads  out  the  verses  on  his  knee  and  studies  them) 
I  seem  to  see  some  meaning  after  all.  "Said  I  could  not 
swim."  You  can't  swim,  can  you? 

KNAVE  (shakes  his  head  sadly  and  points  to  his  suit) .  Do  I  look 
like  it? 

KING.  All  right,  so  far;  "We  know  it  to  be  true,"  that's  the 
jury,  of  course;  "I  gave  her  one,  they  gave  him  two"  — 
why,  that  must  be  what  he  did  with  the  tarts,  you  know 


436          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

ALICE.    But  it  goes  on,  "they  all  returned  from  him  to  you." 
KING  (triumphantly  pointing  to  the  tarts).     Why,  there  they  are! 

Nothing  can  be  clearer  than  that.     Then  again,  "before  she 

had  this  fit,"  —  you  never  had  fits,  my  dear,  I  think? 
QUEEN.     Never! 
KING.     Then  the  words  don't  fit  you. 

[There  is  dead  silence,  while  the  King  looks  around  at  the  court 

with  a  smile. 
KING.     It's  a  pun!     (Everybody  laughs.     Music)     Let  the  jury 

consider  their  verdict. 

QUEEN.    No,  no !     Sentence  first  —  verdict  afterwards. 
ALICE.     Stuff  and  nonsense! 
QUEEN  (furiously).    Hold  your  tongue! 
ALICE.     I  won't ! 
QUEEN.     Off  with  her  head! 
ALICE.     Who  cares  for  you? 
QUEEN.     Cut  it  off ! 
ALICE.     You're  nothing  but  a  pack  of  cards ! 

[As  lights  go  out  and  curtain  falls  all  the  characters  hold  their 

positions  as  if  petrified. 

CURTAIN 


SCENE  III 

The  curtain  rises  to  show  Alice  still  asleep  in  the  armchair ,  the 

fire  in  the  grate  suffusing  her  with  its  glow. 

CARROLL.     Wake  up,  Alice,  it  is  time  for  tea. 

[Off  stagey  the  characters  repeat  their  most  characteristic  lines, 
"Off  with  her  head,  "  "Consider  your  verdict,"  "Oh!  my  fur 
and  whiskers";  the  Duchess  sneezes,  the  Cat  cries,  as  if  the 
characters  were  fading  away  into  the  pack  of  real  playing  cards 
which  shower  through  the  mirror  all  over  Alice.  There  is  music. 

ALICE  (wakes,  rises,  and  looks  about  in  surprise  and  wonderment). 
Why it  was  a  dream ! 

CURTAIN. 


ABOUT  THE  TRAVELLING  MAN 

Lady  Gregory  has  written  a  charming  book  for  one  of  the 
little  boys  of  her  family,  telling  the  story  of  "Our  Irish  Thea- 
ter." She  knows  that  when  he  grows  up  he  will  want  to  read 
about  all  the  experiences  which  befell  the  Irish  Players  in  Ire- 
land, in  England  and  in  America.  The  Irish  Theater  was  storm- 
tossed,  as  everything  Irish  has  been  for  years  and  years  and 
years.  It  was  a  very  delicate  seed  planted  in  the  minds  of 
people  who  had  a  false  idea  that  the  typical  Irishman  was 
comical,  with  a  snub  nose,  widely  spaced  teeth,  and  with  a 
brogue  or  accent  hardly  understandable.  The  clay  pipe  and 
the  potato  were  his  trade-mark. 

But  Mr.  W.  B.  Yeats,  a  poet  who  has  written  some  beauti- 
ful verse  and  whose  plays,  especially  "The  Pot  of  Broth'*  and 
"The  Land  of  the  Heart's  Desire"  —  are  not  so  far  away  from 
youthful  understanding  (and  when  one  speaks  of  "The  Land 
of  the  Heart's  Desire",  one  instinctively  recalls  the  haunting 
beauty  of  Hauptmann's  "Hannele")  — Yeats  and  Lady  Greg- 
ory, with  some  other  Irish  artists  and  writers,  made  up  their 
minds  they  would  let  the  world  know  that  Ireland  meant 
poetry,  legend,  folklore  and  song,  rich  music  of  speech  and 
even  richer  beauty  of  face  and  figure;  that  Ireland  meant  trag- 
edy of  heart,  and  love,  and  passion;  'and  that  the  humour  of  Ire- 
land was  not  the  slap-stick  kind,  but  something  else. 

So,  through  their  enthusiasm,  they  wakened  the  Irish  artists 
to  the  beauties  of  simple  family  life  (Maria  Edgeworth  had  sug- 
gested them  in  "Castle  Rackrent"),  to  the  foibles  of  Irish 
character;  and  they  tried  to  revive  the  Gaelic  language  which 
was  once  their  common  tongue,  and  which  some  of  their  older 
folk  still  clung  to  as  their  own.  This  idea  appealed  to  some,  it 
made  others  stubborn  in  their  opposition.  Because  of  this 
division  of  opinion,  the  Irish  Theater  had  a  difficult  time.  But 


438  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

Yeats  and  Lady  Gregory  nurtured  the  plays  sent  them,  writ- 
ten by  John  Synge  and  others;  and  they  themselves  wrote 
singly  and  together  pieces  which  reflected  the  poetry,  the  tra- 
dition and  the  reality  of  Irish  life.  These  dramas  were  often 
given  in  the  face  of  opposition,  for  the  Irish  are  sensitive,  and 
do  not  like  to  be  pictured  too  truthfully,  for  fear  of  being  mis- 
understood and  misrepresented.  It  took  them  some  time  to  see 
that  these  writers  —  headed  by  Yeats  and  Lady  Gregory  — 
were  fighting  in  the  only  sane  way  for  Ireland's  artistic  recog- 
nition. 

Most  of  the  dramas  were  either  folk  plays  or  stories  con- 
ceived of  high  imagination,  mixed  with  national  lore.  They 
were  drawn  out  of  the  very  life  and  customs  of  the  people.  An 
excellent  example  of  this  is  Lady  Gregory's  "The  Travelling 
Man",  founded  on  peasant  belief.  She  has  written  of  it  in  the 
following  manner: 

"An  old  woman  living  in  a  cabin  by  a  bog  road  on  Slieve 
Echtge  told  me  the  legend  on  which  this  play  is  founded,  and 
which  I  have  already  published  in  *  Poets  and  Dreamers.' 

"  There  was  a  poor  girl  walking  the  road  one  night  with  no 
place  to  stop,  and  the  Saviour  met  her  on  the  road,  and  He 
said  —  "Go  up  to  the  house  you  see  a  light  in;  there's  a  woman 
dead  there,  and  they'll  let  you  in."  So  she  went,  and  she 
found  the  woman  laid  out,  and  the  husband  and  other  people; 
but  she  worked  harder  than  they  all,  and  she  stopped  in  the 
house  after;  and  after  two  quarters  the  man  married  her.  And 
one  day  she  was  sitting  outside  the  door,  picking  over  a  bag  of 
wheat,  and  the  Saviour  came  again,  with  the  appearance  of  a 
poor  man,  and  He  asked  her  for  a  few  grains  of  the  wheat. 
And  she  said  —  "Wouldn't  potatoes  be  good  enough  for  you?" 
And  she  called  to  the  girl  within  to  bring  out  a  few  potatoes. 
But  He  took  nine  grains  of  the  wheat  in  His  hand  and  went 
away;  and  there  wasn't  a  grain  of  wheat  left  in  the  bag,  but  all 
gone.  So  she  ran  after  Him  then  to  ask  Him  to  forgive  her; 
and  she  overtook  Him  on  the  road,  and  she  asked  forgiveness. 
And  He  said  —  "Don't  you  remember  the  time  you  had  no 
house  to  go  to,  and  I  met  you  on  the  road,  and  sent  you  to  a 
house  where  you'd  live  in  plenty?  And  now  you  wouldn't  give 


The  Travelling  Man  439 

Me  a  few  grains  of  wheat."  And  she  said  —  "But  why  didn't 
you  give  me  a  heart  that  would  like  to  divide  it?"  That  is 
how  she  came  round  on  Him.  And  He  said  —  "From  this  out, 
whenever  you  have  plenty  in  your  hands,  divide  it  freely  for 
My  sake." 

"And  an  old  woman  who  sold  sweets  in  a  little  shop  in  Gal- 
way,  and  whose  son  became  a  great  Dominican  preacher,  used 
to  say  —  'Refuse  not  any,  for  one  may  be  the  Christ.' 

"I  owe  the  Rider's  Song,  and  some  of  the  rest,  to  W.  B. 
Yeats." 

This  drama,  which  formed  a  part  of  the  repertory  of  the 
Children's  Educational  Theater,  in  New  York,  is  a  modern 
miracle  play,  and,  just  as  only  the  pure  in  heart  may  see  God, 
so  in  the  miracle  plays  only  the  truly  good  may  see  more  than 
they  actually  see.  Thus  have  Tolstoi,  the  Russian  writer,  and 
Tagore,  the  East  Indian,  and  Lady  Gregory,  the  Irish  drama- 
tist, touched  the  heart  of  child  purity  and  the  heart  of  eternal 
truth  in  their  exquisite  "God  is  Love",  "The  Post  Office", 
and  "The  Travelling  Man." 


THE  TRAVELLING  MAN 
BY  LADY  GREGORY 


PERSONS 

A  MOTHER 

A  CHILD 

A  TRAVELLING  MAN 


COPYRIGHT,  1905,  BY  LADY  GREGORY. 

This  play  has  been  copyrighted  and  published  simultaneously  in  the  United  States 
and  Great  Britain.  All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of  translation  into  foreign  lan- 
guages. Performances  forbidden  and  right  of  presentation  reserved.  Applications  for  the 
right  of  performing  this  play  or  reading  it  in  public  should  be  made  to  Samuel  French, 
28  West  38th  Street,  New  York,  or  26  South  Hampton  Street,  Strand,  London. 

Reprinted  from  "Seven  Short  Plays",  by  special  permission  of  the  publishers,  G.  P« 
Putnam's  Sons,  New  York. 


THE  TRAVELLING  MAN 

A   MIRACLE   PLAY 

SCENE.    A  cottage  kitchen.    A  woman  setting  out  a  bowl  and 
jug  and  board  on  the  table  for  breadmaking. 
CHILD.   What  is  it  you  are  going  to  make,  mother? 
MOTHER.   I  am  going  to  make  a  grand  cake  with  white  flour. 
(Seeds  I  will  put  in  it.'    Maybe  I'll  make  a  little  cake  for 

yourself  too.     You  can  be  baking  it  in  the  little  pot  while 

the  big  one  will  be  baking  in  the  big  pot. 
CHILD.   It  is  a  pity  daddy  to  be  away  at  the  fair  on  a  Samhain 

night. 
MOTHER.   I  must  make  my  feast  all  the  same,  for  Samhain 

night  is  more  to  me  than  to  any  other  one.    It  was  on  this 

night  seven  years  I  first  came  into  this  house. 
CHILD.   You  will  be  taking  down  those  plates  from  the  dresser 

so,  those  plates  with  flowers  on  them^  and  be  putting  them 

on  the  table. 
MOTHER.   I  will.     I  will  6et  out  the  house  to-day,  and  bring  down 

the  best  delf,  and  put  whatever  thing  is  best  on  the  table, 

because  of  the  great  thing  that  happened  me  seven  years  ago. 
CHILD.   What  great  thing  was  that? 
MOTHER.   I  was  after  being  driven  out  of  the  house  where  I 

was  a  serving  girl.  .  .  . 

CHILD.    Where  was  that  house?    Tell  me  about  it. 
MOTHER  (sitting  down  and  pointing  southward).   It  is  over  there 

I  was  living,  in  a  farmer's  house  up  on  Slieve  Echtge,  near  to 

Slieve  na  n-Or,  the  Golden  Mountain. 

CHILD.   The  Golden  Mountain!    That  must  be  a  grand  place. 
MOTHER.   Not  very  grand  indeed,  but  bare  and  cold  enough  at 

that  time  of  the  year.    Anyway,  I  was  driven  out  a  Samhain 

day  like  this,  because  of  some  things  that  were  said  against  me. 


444  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

CHILD.   What  did  you  do  then? 

MOTHER.  What  had  I  to  do  but  to  go  walking  the  bare  bog 
road  through  the  rough  hills  where  there  was  no  shelter  to 
find,  and  the  sharp  wind  going  through  me,  and  the  red 
mud  heavy  on  my  shoes.  I  came  to  Kilbecanty.  .  .  . 

CHILD.  I  know  Kilbecanty.  That  is  where  the  woman  in  the 
shop  gave  me  sweets  out  of  a  bottle. 

MOTHER.  So  she  might  now,  but  that  night  her  door  was  shut 
and  all  the  doors  were  shut; (and  I  saw  through  the  windows 
the  boys  and  the  girls  sitting  round  the  hearth  and  playing 
their  games,^  and  I  had  no  courage  to  ask  for  shelter.  In 
dread  I  was  they  might  think  some  shameful  thing  of  me, 
and  I  going  the  road  alone  in  the  night-time. 

CHILD.   Did  you  come  here  after  that? 

MOTHER.  I  went  on  down  the  hill  in  the  darkness,  ;and  with 
the  dint  of  my  trouble  and  the  length  of  the  road )  my 
strength  failed  me,  and  I  had  like  to  fall.  So  I  did  fall 
at  the  last,  meeting  with  a  heap  of  broken  stones  by  the 
roadside. 

CHILD.   I  hurt  my  knee  one  time  I  fell  on  the  stones. 

MOTHER.  It  was  then  the  great  thing  happened.  I  saw  a 
stranger  coming  towards  me,  a  very  tall  man,  the  best  I 
ever  saw,  bright  and  shining  that  you  could  see  him  through 
the  darkness;  and  I  knew  him  to  be  no  common  man. 

CHILD.  Who  was  he? 

MOTHER.  It  is  what  I  thought,  that  he  was  the  King  of  the 
World. 

CHILD.   Had  he  a  crown  like  a  King? 

MOTHER.  If  he  had,  it  was  made  of  the  twigs  of  a  bare  black- 
thorn; but  in  his  hand  he  had  a  green  branch,  that  never 
grew  on  a  tree  of  this  world.  He  took  me  by  the  hand,  and 
he  led  me  over  the  stepping-stones  outside  to  this  door,  and 
he  bade  me  to  go  in  and  I  would  find  good  shelter.  I  was 
kneeling  down  to  thank  him,  but  he  raised  me  up  and  he 
said,  "I  will  come  to  see  you  some  other  time.  And  do  not 
shut  up  your  heart  in  the  things  I  give  you,"  he  said,  "but 
have  a  welcome  before  me." 


The  Travelling  Man  445 

CHILD.   Did  he  go  away  then? 

MOTHER.  I  saw  him  no  more  after  that,  but  I  did  as  he  bade 
me.  (She  stands  up  and  goes  to  the  door)  I  came  in  like  this, 
and  your  father  was  sitting  there  by  the  hearth,  a  lonely 
man  that  was  after  losing  his  wife.  He  was  alone  and  I 
was  alone,  and  we  married  one  another;  and  I  never  wanted 
since  for  shelter  or  safety.  And  a  good  wife  I  made  him, 
and  a  good  housekeeper. 

CHILD.   Will  the  King  come  again  to  the  house? 

MOTHER.  I  have  his  word  for  it  he  will  come,  but  he  did  not 
come  yet;  it  is  often  your  father  and  myself  looked  out  the 
door  of  a  Samhain  night,  thinking  to  see  him. 

CHILD.   I  hope  he  won't  come  in  the  night  time,  and  I  asleep. 

MOTHER.  It  is  of  him  I  do  be  thinking  every  year,  and  I  set- 
ting out  the  house,  and  making  a  cake  for  the  supper. 

CHILD.   What  will  he  do  when  he  comes  in? 

MOTHER.  He  will  sit  over  there  in  the  chair,  and  maybe  he  will 
taste  a  bit  of  the  cake.  I  will  call  in  'all  the  neighbours;  I 
will  tell  them  he  is  here.  They  will  not  be  keeping  it  in 
their  mind  against  me  then  that  I  brought  nothing,  coming 
to  the  house.  They  will  know  I  am  before  any  of  them,  the 
time  they  know  who  it  is  has  come  to  visit  me.  They  will 
all  kneel  down  and  ask  for  his  blessing.  But  the  best  bless- 
ing will  be  on  the  house  he  came  to  of  himself. 

CHILD.   And  are  you  going  to  make  the  cake  now? 

MOTHER.  I  must  make  it  now  indeed,  or  I  will  be  late  with  it. 
I  am  late  as  it  is;  I  was  expecting  one  of  the  neighbours  to 
bring  me  white  flour  from  the  town.  I'll  wait  no  longer,  I'll 
go  borrow  it  in  some  place.  There  will  be  a  wedding  in  the 
stonecutter's  house  Thursday,  it's  likely  there  will  be  flour 
in  the  house. 

CHILD.   Let  me  go  along  with  you. 

MOTHER.  It  is  best  for  you  to  stop  here.  Be  a  good  child  now, 
and  don't  be  meddling  with  the  things  on  the  table.  Sit 
down  there  by  the  hearth  and  break  up  those  little  sticks  I 
am  after  bringing  in.  Make  a  little  heap  of  them  now  be- 
fore me^,  and  we  will  make  a  good  fire  to  bake  the  cake.  See 


446  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

now  how  many  will  you  break.)  Don't  go  out  the  door  while 
I'm  away;  I  would  be  in  dread  of  you  going  near  the  river 
and  it  in  flood.  (Behave  yourself  well  now.    Be  counting  the 
sticks  as  you  break  thern^ 
[She  goes  out. 

CHILD  (sitting  down  and  breaking  sticks  across  his  knee).  .One  — 
and  two  —  O  I  can  break  this  one  into  a  great  many,  one, 
two,  three,  four.  —  This  one  is  wet  —  I  don't  like  a  wet  one 
—  five,  six  —  that  is  a  great  heap.  —  Let  me  try  that  great 
big  one.  —  That  is  too  hard.  —  I  don't  think  mother  could 
break  that  one.  —  Daddy  could  break  it. 
[Half-door  is  opened  and  a  Travelling  Man  comes  in.  He 
wears  a  ragged  white  flannel  shirt,  and  mud-stained  trousers. 
He  is  bareheaded  and  barefooted,  and  carries  a  little  branch  in 
his  hand. 

TRAVELLING  MAN  (stooping  over  the  Child  and  taking  the  stick). 
Give  it  here  to  me  and  hold  this. 

[He  puts  the  branch  in  the  Child's  hand  while  he  takes  the  stick 
and  breaks  it. 

CHILD.  That  is  a  good  branch,  apples  on  it  and  flowers.  The 
tree  at  the  mill  has  apples  yet,  but  all  the  flowers  are  gone. 
Where  did  you  get  this  branch? 

TRAVELLING  MAN.   I  got  it  in  a  garden  a  long  way  off. 

CHILD.    Where  is  the  garden?    yyVhere  do  you  come  from? 

TRAVELLING  MAN  (pointing  southward).  I  have  come  from  be- 
yond those  hills' 

CHILD.  Is  it  from^the  Golden  Mountain  you  are  come?  (From 
Slieve  na  n-Or  rj) 

TRAVELLING  MAN.  That  is  where  I  come  from  surely,  from  the 
Golden  Mountain.  I  would  like  to  sit  down  and  rest  for  a 
while. 

CHILD.  Sit  down  here  beside  me.  We  must  not  go  near  the 
table  or  touch  anything,  or  mother  will  be  angry.  Mother  is 
going  to  make  a  beautiful  cake,  a  cake  that  will  be  fit  for  a 
King  that  might  be  coming  in  to  our  supper. 

TRAVELLING  MAN.   I  will  sit  here  with  you  on  the  floor. 
\Sits  down. 


The  Travelling  Man  447 

CHILD.   Tell  me  now  about  the  Golden  Mountain. 
TRAVELLING  MAN.   There  is  a  garden  in  it,  and  there  is  a  tree 

in  the  garden  that  has  fruit  and  flowers  at  the  one  time. 
CHILD.   Like  this  branch? 
TRAVELLING  MAN.   Just  like  that  little  branch. 
CHILD.   What  other  things  are  in  the  garden? 
TRAVELLING  MAN.    There  are  birds  of  all  colours  that  sing  at 

every  hour,  the  way  the  people  will  come  to  their  prayers. 

And  there  is  a  high  wall  about  the  garden. 
CHILD.   What  way  can  the  people  get  through  the  wall? 
TRAVELLING  MAN.   There  are  four  gates  in  the  wall:    a  gate  of 

gold,  and  a  gate  of  silver,  and  a  gate  of  crystal,  and  a  gate 

of  white  brass. 
CHILD  (taking  up  the  sticks) .   I  will  make  a  garden.    I  will  make 

a  wall  with  these  sticks. 
TRAVELLING  MAN.   This  big  stick  will  make  the  first  wall. 

[They  build  a  square  wall  with  sticks. 
CHILD  (taking  up  branch).   I  will  put  this  in  the  middle.    This 

is  the  tree.    I  will  get  something  to  make  it  stand  up.    (Gets 

up  and  looks  at  dresser)     I  can't  reach  it;  get  up  and  give 

me  that  shining  jug. 

[Travelling  Man  gets  up  and  gives  him  the  jug. 
TRAVELLING  MAN.   Here  it  is  for  you. 
CHILD  (puts  it  within  the  walls  and  sets  the  branch  in  it).  Tell 

me  something  else  that  is  in  the  garden? 
TRAVELLING  MAN.   There  are  four  wells  of  water  in  it,  that  are 

as  clear  as  glass. 
CHILD.   Get  me  down  those  cups,  those  flowery  cups;  we  will 

put  them  for  wells.    (He  hands  them  down)    Now  I  will  make 

the  gates;  give  me  those  plates  for  gates,  not  those  ugly  ones, 

those  nice  ones  at  the  top. 

[He  takes  them  down  and  they  put  them  on  the  four  sides  for 

gates.    The  Child  gets  up  and  looks  at  it. 
TRAVELLING  MAN.   There  now,  it  is  finished. 
CHILD.   Is  it  as  good  as  the  other  garden?    How  can  we  go  to 

the  Golden  Mountain  to  see  the  other  garden? 
TRAVELLING  MAN-    We  can  ride  to  it. 


448  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

CHILD.   But  we  have  no  hojse^t^ 

TRAVELLING  MAN.  This  &>*ffl  will  be  our  horse.  (He  draws  a 
form  out  of  the  corner,  and  sits  down  astride  on  it,  putting  the 
Child  before  him)  Now,  off  we  go!  (Sings,  the  Child  repeat- 
ing the  refrain) 

Come  ride  and  ride  to  the  garden, 

Come  ride  and  ride  with  a  will: 
For  the  flower  comes  with  the  fruit  there 

Beyond  a  hill  and  a  hill. 

Refrain 

Come  ride  and  ride  to  the  garden, 

Come  ride  like  the  March  wind; 
There's  barley  there,  and  water  there, 

And  stabling  to  your  mind. 

TRAVELLING  MAN.   How  did  you  like  that  ride,  little  horseman? 
CHILD.   Go  on  again!    I  want  another  ride! 

TRAVELLING  MAN.     (Sings) 

The  Archangels  stand  in  a  row  there 

And  all  the  garden  bless, 
The  Archangel  Axel,  Victor  the  angel 

Work  at  the  cider  press. 

Refrain 
Come  ride  and  ride  to  the  garden,  &c. 

CHILD.  We  will  soon  be  at  the  Golden  Mountain  now.  Ride 
again.  Sing  another  song. 

TRAVELLING  MAN.  (Sings) 

O  scent  of  the  broken  apples! 

O  shuffling  of  holy  shoes ! 
Beyond  a  hill  and  a  hill  there 

In  the  land  that  no  one  knows. 

Refrain 
Come  ride  and  ride  to  the  garden,  &c. 


The  Travelling  Man  449 

CHILD.   Now  another  ride. 

TRAVELLING  MAN.  This  will  be  the  last.  It  will  be  a  good  ride. 
[The  Mother  comes  in.  She  stares  for  a  second,  then  throws 
down  her  basket  and  snatches  up  the  Child. 

MOTHER.  Did  ever  anyone  see  the  like  of  that!  A  common 
beggar,  a  travelling  man  off  the  roads,  to  be  holding  the 
child!  To  be  leaving  his  ragged  arms  about  him  as  if  he 
was  of  his  own  sort!  Get  out  of  that,  whoever  you  are, 
and  quit  this  house  or  I'll  call  to  some  that  will  make  you 
quit  it. 

CHILD.  Do  not  send  him  out!  He  is  not  a  bad  man;  he  is  a 
good  man;  he  was  playing  horses  with  me.  He  has  grand 
songs. 

MOTHER.  Let  him  get  away  out  of  this  now,  himself  and  his 
share  of  songs.  Look  at  the  way  he  has  your  bib  destroyed 
that  I  was  after  washing  in  the  morning! 

CHILD.  He  was  holding  me  on  the  horse.  We  were  riding;  I 
might  have  fallen.  He  held  me. 

MOTHER.  I  give  you  my  word  you  are  done  now  with  riding 
horses.  Let  him  go  on  his  road.  I  have  no  time  to  be  clean- 
ing the  place  after  the  like  of  him. 

CHILD.   He  is  tired.    Let  him  stop  here  till  evening. 

TRAVELLING  MAN.  Let  me  rest  here  for  a  while;  I  have  been 
travelling  a  long  way. 

MOTHER.   Where  did  you  come  from  to-day? 

TRAVELLING  MAN.  I  came  over  Slieve  Echtge  from  Slieve  na 
n-Or.  I  had  no  house  to  stop  in.  I  walked  the  long  bog 
road,  the  wind  was  going  through  me,  there  was  no  shelter 
to  be  got,  the  red  mud  of  the  road  was  heavy  on  my  feet.  I 
got  no  welcome  in  the  villages,  and  so  I  came  on  to  this 
place,  to  the  rising  of  the  river  at  Ballylee. 

MOTHER.  It  is  best  for  you  to  go  on  to  the  town.  It  is  not  far 
for  you  to  go.  We  will  maybe  have  company  coming  in  here. 
[She  pours  out  flour  into  a  bowl  and  begins  mixing. 

TRAVELLING  MAN.  Will  you  give  me  a  bit  of  that  dough  to 
bring  with  me?  I  have  gone  a  long  time  fasting. 

MOTHER.   It  is  not  often  in  the  year  I  make  bread  like  this. 


450  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

There  are  a  few  cold  potatoes  on  the  dresser;  are  they  not 
good  enough  for  you?  There  is  many  a  one  would  be  glad  to 
get  them. 

TRAVELLING  MAN.   Whatever  you  will  give  me,  I  will  take  it. 

MOTHER  (going  to  the  dresser  for  the  potatoes  and  looking  at  the 
shelves).  What  in  the  earthly  world  has  happened  all  the 
delf?  Where  are  the  jugs  gone  and  the  plates?  They  were 
all  in  it  when  I  went  out  a  while  ago. 

CHILD  (hanging  his  head) .  We  were  making  a  garden  with  them. 
We  were  making  that  garden  there  in  the  corner. 

MOTHER.  Is  that  what  you  were  doing  after  I  bidding  you  to 
sit  still  and  to  keep  yourself  quiet?  It  is  to  tie  you  in  the 
chair  I  will  another  time!  My  grand  jugs!  (She  picks  them 
up  and  wipes  them)  My  plates  that  I  bought  the  first  time 
I  ever  went  marketing  into  Gort.  The  best  in  the  shop  they 
were.  (One  slips  from  her  hand  and  breaks)  Look  at  that 
now,  look  what  you  are  after  doing. 
[She  gives  a  slap  at  the  Child. 

TRAVELLING  MAN.  Do  not  blame  the  child.  It  was  I  myself 
took  them  down  from  the  dresser. 

MOTHER  (turning  on  him).  It  was  you  took  them!  What  busi- 
ness had  you  doing  that?  It's  the  last  time  a  tramp  or  a 
tinker  or  a  rogue  of  the  roads  will  have  a  chance  of  laying 
his  hand  on  anything  in  this  house.  It  is  jailed  you  should 
be!  What  did  you  want  touching  the  dresser  at  all?  Is  it 
looking  you  were  for  what  you  could  bring  away? 

TRAVELLING  MAN  (taking  the  Child's  hands) .  I  would  not  refuse 
these  hands  that  were  held  out  for  them.  If  it  was  for  the 
four  winds  of  the  world  he  had  asked,  I  would  have  put 
their  bridles  into  these  innocent  hands. 

MOTHER  (taking  up  the  jug  and  throwing  the  branch  on  the  floor). 
Get  out  of  this!  Get  out  of  this  I  tell  you!  There  is  no 
shelter  here  for  the  like  of  you!  Look  at  that  mud  on  the 
floor!  You  are  not  fit  to  come  into  the  house  of  any  decent 
respectable  person! 
[The  room  begins  to  darken. 

TRAVELLING  MAN.   Indeed,  I  am  more  used  to  the  roads  than 


The  Travelling  Man  451 

to  the  shelter  of  houses.    It  is  often  I  have  spent  the  night 
on  the  bare  hills. 

MOTHER.  No  wonder  in  that !  (She  begins  to  sweep  floor)  Go 
out  of  this  now  to  whatever  company  you  are  best  used  to, 
whatever  they  are.  The  worst  of  people  it  is  likely  they  are, 
thieves  and  drunkards  and  shameless  women. 

TRAVELLING  MAN.  Maybe  so.  Drunkards  and  thieves  and 
shameless  women,  stones  that  have  fallen,  that  are  trodden 
under  foot,  bodies  that  are  spoiled  with  sores,  bodies  that 
are  worn  with  fasting,  minds  that  are  broken  with  much 
sinning,  the  poor,  the  mad,  the  bad.  .  .  . 

MOTHER.   Get  out  with  you!    Go  back  to  your  friends,  I  say! 

TRAVELLING  MAN.  I  will  go.  I  will  go  back  to  the  high  road 
that  is  walked  by  the  bare  feet  of  the  poor,  by  the  innocent 
bare  feet  of  children.  I  will  go  back  to  the  rocks  and  the 
wind,  to  the  cries  of  the  trees  in  the  storm!  [He  goes  out. 

CHILD.   He  has  forgotten  his  branch! 
[Takes  it  and  follows  him. 

MOTHER  (still  sweeping).  My  good  plates  from  the  dresser,  and 
dirty  red  mud  on  the  floor,  and  the  sticks  all  scattered  in 
every  place.  (Stoops  to  pick  them  up)  Where  is  the  child 
gone?  (Goes  to  door)  I  don't  see  him  —  he  couldn't  have 
gone  to  the  river  —  it  is  getting  dark  —  the  bank  is 
slippy-  Come  back!  Come  back!  Where  are  you?  [Child 
runs  in. 

MOTHER.  O  where  were  you?  I  was  in  dread  it  was  to  the 
river  you  were  gone,  or  into  the  river. 

CHILD.   I  went  after  him.    He  is  gone  over  the  river. 

MOTHER.  He  couldn't  do  that.  He  couldn't  go  through  the 
flood. 

CHILD.  He  did  go  over  it.  He  was  as  if  walking  on  the  water. 
There  was  a  light  before  his  feet. 

MOTHER.  That  could  not  be  so.  What  put  that  thought  in 
your  mind? 

CHILD.  I  called  to  him  to  come  back  for  the  branch,  and  he 
turned  where  he  was  in  the  river,  and  he  bade  me  to  bring 
it  back,  and  to  show  it  to  yourself. 


452          A   Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

MOTHER  (taking  the  branch).  There  are  fruit  and  flowers  on  it. 
Tt  is  a  branch  that  is  not  of  any  earthly  tree.  (Falls  on  her 
knees)  He  is  gone,  he  is  gone,  and  I  never  knew  him!  He 
was  that  stranger  that  gave  me  all!  He  is  the  King  of  the 
World! 


ABOUT  THE  PAGEANT:    THE  MONTHS 

A  pageant  is  a  processional  display,  in  which  many  people 
have  a  part.  It  may  be  given  in  celebration  of  a  particular 
historical  event  in  town,  city  or  nation;  it  may  commemorate 
the  founding  of  a  church  or  college  or  similar  institution;  it 
may  pay  tribute  to  the  birthday  of  a  notable  person.  But  al- 
ways it  allows  many  people  to  take  part,  and  its  costumes  give 
colour  to  the  picture. 

In  early  Elizabethan  days  —  even  before  —  pageantry  was 
a  common  form  of  entertainment,  of  celebration.  But,  as  plays 
became  more  and  more  confined  within  a  roofed  playhouse, 
the  action  of  the  drama  became  less  and  less  expansive,  until 
pageantry,  as  an  art,  almost  entirely  disappeared.  In  1905, 
it  was  revived  in  England  by  the  dramatist,  Louis  N.  Parker; 
since  which  time  it  has  spread  to  all  localities  of  the  English- 
speaking  race. 

In  olden  times,  the  people  used  to  dance  the  seasons  in  and 
out,  used  to  sing  hymns  of  praises  for  the  fruit  of  purple  autumn. 
May-pole  rites,  Hallowe'en  games,  Thanksgiving  processionals 
were  the  common  enjoyment  of  the  people.  ^  Shakespeare  wrote, 
in  his  day,  what  were  known  as  chronicle  dramas,  where  dis- 
play, as  in  "Henry  V",  was  the  dominant  characteristic. 

Now,  I  do  not  believe,  when  Christina  G.  Rossetti  wrote  this 
little  pageant  of  "The  Months",  that  she  had  in  mind  any  such 
extensive  display  as  used  to  grace  the  Courts  of  the  early  mon- 
archs  of  England,  when  the  poets  wrote  masques  and  the 
guilds  spent  lavish  sums  on  mystery  pageants,  in  celebration 
of  Corpus  Christi.  Miss  Rossetti  had  no  such  historic  sense. 
She  was  one  of  those  quaint  souls  —  religious  in  fervour  and 
holy  in  thought  —  who  might  have  stepped  from  the  pages  of 
her  favourite  novel,  Mrs.  Gaskell's  "Cranford."  There  was 
nothing  original  in  her  plan:  I  have  near  me  two  pieces  of 


454          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

similar  import,  —  Charles  Lamb's  "Masque  of  Days"  and 
Marguerite  Merington's  "Father  Time  and  His  Children"; 
and  at  the  opera  your  fathers  and  mothers  remember  the  bril- 
liant ballet  of  "The  Dance  of  the  Hours." 

But  I  use  Miss  Rossetti's  "Pageant"  because,  unlike  most 
of  the  pageants  written  to-day,  it  has  no  special  story  to  tell 
other  than  that  which  comes  from  a  true  poet's  heart.  She 
has  no  propaganda  to  spread.  I  wanted  greatly  to  use  a  mod- 
ern pageant,  but  they  were  all  too  "utilitarian",  which  means 
that  their  language  was  not  poetically  imaginative  enough,  and 
their  symbolism  too  complicated. 

When  you  are  older,  you  will  know  more  of  the  relation  be- 
tween Christina  and  her  brother,  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti,  the 
poet  and  painter.  One  of  the  most  beautiful  studies,  in  the 
period  of  Lamb  and  Wordsworth  and  Rossetti,  is  that  which 
reveals  the  devotion  existing  between  brothers  and  sisters. 


THE  MONTHS 

A  PAGEANT 

BY  CHRISTINA  G.  ROSSETTI 


PERSONIFICATIONS 

Boys  Girls 

JANUAKY  FEBRUARY 

MARCH  APRIL 

JULY  MAY 

AUGUST  JUNE 

OCTOBER  SEPTEMBER 

DECEMBER  NOVEMBER 

ROBIN  REDBREASTS;    LAMBS  and  SHEEP;    NIGHTINGALE  and 

NESTLINGS 

Various  Flowers,  Fruits,  etc. 


THE  MONTHS 

SCENE.    A  Cottage  with  its  grounds.    A  room  in  a  large  com- 
fortable cottage;   a  fire  burning  on  the  hearth;   a  table  on  which 
the  breakfast  things  have  been  left  standing.    January  discovered 
seated  by  the  fire. 
JANUARY. 

Cold  the  day  and  cold  the  drifted  snow, 
Dim  the  day  until  the  cold  dark  night. 

[Stirs  the  fire. 

Crackle,  sparkle,  fagot;  embers  glow: 

Some  one  may  be  plodding  through  the  snow 

Longing  for  a  light, 

For  the  light  that  you  and  I  can  show. 

If  no  one  else  should  come, 

Here  Robin  Redbreast's  welcome  to  a  crumb, 

And  never  troublesome: 

Robin,  why  don't  you  come  and  fetch  your  crumb? 

Here  's  butter  for  my  hunch  of  bread, 

And  sugar  for  your  crumb; , 
Here  's  room  upon  the  hearthrug, 

If  you  '11  only  come. 

In  your  scarlet  waistcoat, 

With  your  keen  bright  eye, 
Where  are  you  loitering? 

Wings  were  made  to  fly! 

Make  haste  to  breakfast, 

Come  and  fetch  your  crumb, 
For  I  'm  as  glad  to  see  you 

As  you  are  glad  to  come. 


458          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

Two  Robin  Redbreasts  are  seen  tapping  with  their  beaks  at  the 
lattice,  which  January  opens.  The  birds  flutter  in,  hop  about 
the  floor,  and  peck  up  the  crumbs  and  sugar  thrown  to  them. 
They  have  scarcely  finished  their  meal,  when  a  knock  is  heard 
at  the  door.  January  hangs  a  guard  in  front  of  the  fire,  and 
opens  to  February,  who  appears  with  a  bunch  of  snowdrops  in 
her  hand. 
JANUARY.  Good -morrow,  sister. 

FEBRUARY. 

Brother,  joy  to  you ! 

I  Ve  brought  some  snowdrops;  only  just  a  few, 
But  quite  enough  to  prove  the  world  awake, 
Cheerful  and  hopeful  in  the  frosty  dew 
And  for  the  pale  sun's  sake. 

[She  hands  a  few  of  her  snowdrops  to  January,  who  retires  into 
the  background.  While  February  stands  arranging  the  remain- 
ing snowdrops  in  a  glass  of  water  on  the  window-sill,  a  soft 
butting  and  bleating  are  heard  outside.  She  opens  the  door, 
and  sees  one  foremost  lamb,  with  other  sheep  and  lambs  bleat- 
ing and  crowding  towards  her. 

FEBRUARY. 

O  you,  you  little  wonder,  come  —  come  in, 

You  wonderful,  you  woolly  soft  white  Iambi 

You  panting  mother  ewe,  come  too, 

And  lead  that  tottering  twin 

Safe  in : 

Bring  all  your  bleating  kith  and  kin, 

Except  the  horny  ram. 

[February  opens  a  second  door  in  the  background,  and  the  little 
flock  files  through  into  a  warm  and  sheltered  compartment  out 
of  sight. 

The  lambkin  tottering  in  its  walk 

With  just  a  fleece  to  wear; 
The  snowdrop  drooping  on  its  stalk 
So  slender,  — 


THE  MONTHS 
February. — "You  wonderful,  you  woolly  soft  white  lamb. 


The  Months:    A  Pageant  459 

Snowdrop  and  lamb,  a  pretty  pair, 
Braving  the  cold  for  our  delight, 

Both  white, 

Both  tender. 

[A  rattling  of  doors  and  windows;  branches  seen  without,  toss- 
ing violently  to  and  fro. 

How  the  doors  rattle,  and  the  branches  sway ! 

Here  's  brother  March  comes  whirling  on  his  way 

With  winds  that  eddy  and  sing. 

[She  turns  the  handle  of  the  door,  which  bursts  open,  and  discloses 
March  hastening  up,  both  hands  full  of  violets  and  anemones. 

FEBRUARY. 

Come,  show  me  what  you  bring; 

For  I  have  said  my  say,  fulfilled  my  day, 

And  must  away. 

MARCH  (stowing  short  on  the  threshold). 

I  blow  an  arouse, 

Through  the  world's  wide  house 
To  quicken  the  torpid  earth: 

Grappling  I  fling 

Each  feeble  thing, 
But  bring  strong  life  to  the  birth. 

I  wrestle  and  frown, 

And  topple  down; 
I  wrench,  I  rend,  I  uproot; 

Yet  the  violet 

Is  born  where  I  set 
The  sole  of  my  flying  foot, 

[Hands  violets  and  anemones  to  February,  who  retires  into  the 
background. 

And  in  my  wake 

Frail  wind-flowers  quake, 
And  the  catkins  promise  fruit. 

I  drive  ocean  ashore 

With  rush  and  roar, 


460          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

And  he  cannot  say  me  nay : 

My  harp-strings  all 

Are  the  forests  tall, 
Making  music  when  I  play. 

And  as  others  perforce, 

So  I  on  my  course 
Run  and  needs  must  run, 

With  sap  on  the  mount 

And  buds  past  count 
And  rivers  and  clouds  and  sun, 

With  seasons  and  breath 

And  time  and  death 
And  all  that  has  yet  begun. 

[Before  March  has  done  speaking,  a  voice  is  heard  approach- 
ing,   accompanied   by    a   twittering   of  birds.      April   comes 
along  singing,  and  stands  outside  and  out  of  sight  to  finish 
her  song. 
APRIL  (outside). 

Pretty  little  three 
Sparrows  in  a  tree, 
Light  upon  the  wing; 
Though  you  cannot  sing 
You  can  chirp  of  Spring: 
Chirp  of  Spring  to  me, 
Sparrows,  from  your  tree. 

Never  mind  the  showers, 

Chirp  about  the  flowers 
While  you  build  a  nest : 
Straws  from  east  and  west, 
Feathers  from  your  breast, 

Make  the  snuggest  bowers 

In  a  world  of  flowers. 

You  must  dart  away 
From  the  chosen  spray, 


The  Months:    A  Pageant  461 

You  intrusive  third 

Extra  little  bird; 

Join  the  unwedded  herd! 
These  have  done  with  play, 
And  must  work  to-day. 

APRIL  (appearing  at  the  open  door). 

Good-morrow  and  good-bye;  if  others  fly, 

Of  all  the  flying  months  you  're  the  most  flying. 
MARCH. 

You  're  hope  and  sweetness,  April. 
APRIL. 

Birth  means  dying, 

As  wings  and  wind  mean  flying; 

So  you  and  I  and  all  things  fly  or  die; 

And  sometimes  I  sit  sighing  to  think  of  dying. 

But  meanwhile  I  Ve  a  rainbow  in  my  showers, 

And  a  lapful  of  flowers, 

And  these  dear  nestlings  aged  three  hours; 

And  here  's  their  mother  sitting, 

Their  father  's  merely  flitting 

To  find  their  breakfast  somewhere  in  my  bowers. 

[As  she  speaks  April  shows  March  her  apron  full  of  flowers 
and  nest  full  of  birds.  March  wanders  away  into  the  grounds. 
April,  without  entering  the  cottage,  hangs  over  the  hungry  nest- 
lings watching  them. 

APRIL. 

What  beaks  you  have,  you  funny  things, 

What  voices  shrill  and  weak; 
Who  'd  think  that  anything  that  sings 

Could  sing  through  such  a  beak? 
Yet  you  '11  be  nightingales  one  day, 

And  charm  the  country-side, 
When  I  'm  away  and  far  away 

And  May  is  queen  and  bride. 

[May  arrives  unperceived  by  April,  and  gives  her  a  kiss.  April 
starts  and  looks  round. 


462          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

APRIL. 

Ah  May,  good-morrow,  May,  and  so  good-bye. 
MAY. 

That 's  just  your  way,  sweet  April,  smile  and  sigh : 

Your  sorrow  's  half  in  fun, 

Begun  and  done 

And  turned  to  joy  while  twenty  seconds  run. 

I  've  gathered  flowers  all  as  I  came  along, 

At  every  step  a  flower 

Fed  by  your  last  bright  shower,  — 

[She  divides  an  armful  of  all  sorts  of  flowers  with  April,  who 
strolls  away  through  the  garden. 

MAY. 

And  gathering  flowers  I  listened  to  the  song 
Of  every  bird  in  bower. 

The  world  and  I  are  far  too  full  of  bliss 
To  think  or  plan  or  toil  or  care; 
The  sun  is  waxing  strong, 
The  days  are  waxing  long, 
And  all  that  is, 
Is  fair. 

Here  are  my  buds  of  lily  and  of  rose, 
And  here  's  my  namesake-blossom,  May; 
And  from  a  watery  spot 
See  here  forget-me-not, 
With  all  that  blows 
To-day. 

Hark  to  my  linnets  from  the  hedges  green, 
Blackbird  and  lark  and  thrush  and  dove, 
And  every  nightingale 
And  cuckoo  tells  its  tale, 
And  all  they  mean 
Is  love. 

[June  appears  at  the  further  end  of  the  garden,  coming  slowly 
towards  May,  who,  seeing  her,  exclaims 


The  Months:    A  Pageant  463 

MAY. 

Surely  you  're  come  too  early,  sister  June. 
JUNE. 

Indeed  I  feel  as  if  I  came  too  soon 

To  round  your  young  May  moon 

And  set  the  world  a-gasping  at  my  noon. 

Yet  come  I  must.     So  here  are  strawberries 

Sun-flushed  and  sweet,  as  many  as  you  please; 

And  here  are  full-blown  roses  by  the  score, 

More  roses,  and  yet  more. 

[May,  eating  strawberries,  withdraws  among  the  flower  beds. 
JUNE. 

The  sun  does  all  my  long  day's  work  for  me, 

Raises  and  ripens  everything; 

I  need  but  sit  beneath  a  leafy  tree 

And  watch  and  sing. 

[Seats  herself  in  the  shadow  of  a  laburnum. 

Or  if  I  'm  lulled  by  note  of  bird  and  bee, 

Or  lulled  by  noontide's  silence  deep, 
I  need  but  nestle  down  beneath  my  tree 
And  drop  asleep. 

[June  falls  asleep;   and  is  not  awakened  by  the  voice  of  July, 
who  behind  the  scenes  is  heard  half  singing,  half  calling. 
JULY  (behind  the" scenes). 

Blue  flags,  yellow  flags,  flags  all  freckled, 
Which  will  you  take?  yellow,  blue,  speckled! 
Take  which  you  will,  speckled,  blue,  yellow, 
Each  in  its  way  has  not  a  fellow. 

[Enter  July,  a  basket  of  many-coloured  irises  slung  upon  his 
shoulders,  a  bunch  of  ripe  grass  in  one  hand,  and  a  plate  piled 
full  of  peaches  balanced  upon  the  other.  He  steals  up  to  June, 
and  tickles  her  with  the  grass.  She  wakes. 

JUNE. 

What,  here  already? 


464          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

JULY. 

Nay,  my  tryst  is  kept; 

The  longest  day  slipped  by  you  while  you  slept. 
I  Ve  brought  you  one  curved  pyramid  of  bloom, 

[Hands  her  the  plate. 

Not  flowers,  but  peaches,  gathered  where  the  bees, 

As  downy,  bask  and  boom 

In  sunshine  and  in  gloom  of  trees. 

But  get  you  in,  a  storm  is  at  my  heels; 

The  whirlwind  whistles  and  wheels, 

Lightning  flashes  and  thunder  peals, 

Flying  and  following  hard  upon  my  heels. 

[June  takes  shelter  in  a  thickly-woven  arbour. 

The  roar  of  a  storm  sweeps  up 

From  the  east  to  the  lurid  west, 
The  darkening  sky,  like  a  cup, 

Is  filled  with  rain  to  the  brink; 
The  sky  is  purple  and  fire, 

Blackness  and  noise  and  unrest; 
The  earth,  parched  with  desire, 
Opens  her  mouth  to  drink. 

Send  forth  thy  thunder  and  fire, 
Turn  over  thy  brimming  cup, 

O  sky,  appease  the  desire 

Of  earth  in  her  parched  unrest; 

Pour  out  drink  to  her  thirst, 
Her  famishing  life  lift  up; 

Make  thyself  fair  as  at  first, 
With  a  rainbow  for  thy  crest. 

Have  done  with  thunder  and  fire, 
O  sky  with  the  rainbow  crest; 

O  earth,  have  done  with  desire, 
Drink,  and  drirtk  deep,  and  rest. 


The  Months:    A  Pageant  465 

[Enter  August,  carrying  a  sheaf  made  up  of  different  kinds  of 
grain. 

Hail,  brother  August,  flushed  and  warm 

And  scatheless  from  my  storin. 

Your  hands  are  full  of  corn,  I  see, 

As  full  as  hands  can  be: 

And  earth  and  air  both  smell  as  sweet  as  balm 

In  their  recovered  calm, 

And  that  they  owe  to  me. 

[July  retires  into  a  shrubbery. 
AUGUST. 

Wheat  sways  heavy,  oats  are  airy, 

Barley  bows  a  graceful  head, 
Short  and  small  shoots  up  canary, 

Each  of  these  is  some  one's  bread; 
Bread  for  man  or  bread  for  beast, 
Or  at  very  least 
A  bird's  savory  feast. 

Men  are  brethren  of  each  other, 
One  in  flesh  and  one  in  food; 
And  a  sort  of  foster  brother 
Is  the  litter,  or  the  brood, 
Of  that  folk  in  fur  or  feather, 
Who,  with  men  together, 
Breast  the  wind  and  weather. 

[August  descries  September  toiling  across  the  lawn. 

My  harvest  home  is  ended;  and  I  spy 

September  drawing  nigh 

With  the  first  thought  of  Autumn  in  her  eye, 

And  the  first  sigh 

Of  Autumn  wind  among  her  locks  that  fly. 

[September  arrives,  carrying  upon  her  head  a  basket  heaped 
high  with  fruit. 


466          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

SEPTEMBER. 

Unload  me,  brother.     I  have  brought  a  few 
Plums  and  these  pears  for  you, 
A  dozen  kinds  of  apples,  one  or  two 
Melons,  some  figs  all  bursting  through 
Their  skins,  and  pearled  with  dew 
These  damsons  violet-blue. 

[While  September  is  speaking,  August  lifts  the  basket  to  the 
ground,  selects  various  fruits,  and  withdraws  slowly  along  the 
gravel  walk,  eating  a  pear  as  he  goes. 

My  song  is  half  a  sigh 

Because  my  green  leaves  die; 
Sweet  are  my  fruits,  but  all  my  leaves  are  dying; 

And  well  may  Autumn  sigh, 

And  well  may  I 
Who  watch  the  sere  leaves  flying. 

My  leaves  that  fade  and  fall, 
I  note  you  one  and  all; 
I  call  you,  and  the  Autumn  wind  is  calling, 
Lamenting  for  your  fall, 

And  for  the  pall 
You  spread  on  earth  in  falling. 

And  here  's  a  song  of  flowers  to  suit  such  hours: 
A  song  of  the  last  lilies,  the  last  flowers, 
Amid  my  withering  bowers. 

In  the  sunny  garden  bed 

Lilies  look  so  pale, 
Lilies  droop  the  head 

In  the  shady  grassy  vale; 
If  all  alike  they  pine 
In  shade  and  in  shine, 
If  everywhere  they  grieve, 
Where  will  lilies  live? 


The  Months:   A  Pageant  467 

.  [October  enters  briskly,  some  leafy  twigs  bearing  different  sorts 
of  nuts  in  one  hand,  and  a  long  ripe  hop-bine  trailing  after 
him  from  the  other.  A  dahlia  is  stuck  in  his  buttonhole. 

OCTOBER. 

Nay,  cheer  up,  sister.     Life  is  not  quite  over, 
Even  if  the  year  has  done  with  corn  and  clover, 
With  flowers  and  leaves;  besides,  in  fact  it 's  true, 
Some  leaves  remain  and  some  flowers  too, 
For  me  and  you. 
Now  see  my  crops: 

[Offering  his  produce  to  September. 

I  Ve  brought  you  nuts  and  hops; 
And  when  the  leaf  drops,  why,  the  walnut  drops. 

[October  wreaths  the  hop-bine  about  September's  neck,  and  gives 
her  the  nut  twigs.  They  enter  the  cottage  together,  but  without 
shutting  the  door.  She  steps  into  the  background:  he  advances 
to  the  hearth,  removes  the  guard,  stirs  up  the  smouldering  fire, 
and  arranges  several  chestnuts  ready  to  roast. 

Crack  your  first  nut  and  light  your  first  fire, 
Roast  your  first  chestnut  crisp  on  the  bar; 

Make  the  logs  sparkle,  stir  the  blaze  higher; 
Logs  are  cheery  as  sun  or  as  star, 
Logs  we  can  find  wherever  we  are. 

Spring  one  soft  day  will  open  the  leaves, 
Spring  one  bright  day  will  lure  back  the  flowers; 

Never  fancy  my  whistling  wind  grieves, 
Never  fancy  I  Ve  tears  in  my  showers; 
Dance,  nights  and  days!  and  dance  on,  my  hours! 

[Sees  November  approaching. 

Here  comes  my  youngest  sister,  looking  dim 

And  grim, 

With  dismal  ways. 

What  cheer,  NovemberF^ 


468          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

NOVEMBER  (entering  and  shutting  the  door). 

Nought  have  I  to  bring, 

Tramping  a-chill  and  shivering, 

Except  these  pine-cones  for  a  blaze,  — 

Except  a  fog  which  follows, 

And  stuffs  up  all  the  hollows,  — 

Except  a  hoar  frost  here  and  there,  — 

Except  some  shooting  stars 

Which  dart  their  luminous  cars 

Trackless  and  noiseless  through  the  keen  night  air. 

[October,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  withdraws  into  the  back- 
ground, while  November  throws  her  pine-cones  on  the  fire,  and 
sits  down  listlessly. 

The  earth  lies  fast  asleep,  grown  tired 

Of  all  that 's  high  or  deep; 
There  's  nought  desired  and  nought  required 
Save  a  sleep. 

I  rock  the  cradle  of  the  earth, 

I  lull  her  with  a  sigh; 
And  know  that  she  will  wake  to  mirth 
By  and  by. 

[Through  the  window  December  is  seen  running  and  leaping  in 
the  direction  of  the  door.  He  knocks.  November  calls  out  with- 
out rising. 

Ah,  here  's  my  youngest  brother  come  at  last: 
Come  in,  December. 

[December  opens  the  door  and  enters,  loaded  with  evergreens  in 
berry,  etc. 

Come,  and  shut  the  door, 

For  now  it 's  snowing  fast; 

It  snows,  and  will  snow  more  and  more; 

Don't  let  it  drift  in  on  the  floor. 

But  you,  you  're  all  aglow;  how  can  you  be 

Rosy  and  warm  and  smiling  in  the  cold? 


The  Months:   A  Pageant  469 

DECEMBER. 

Nay,  no  closed  doors  for  me, 

But  open  doors  and  open  hearts  and  glee 

To  welcome  young  and  old. 

Dimmest  and  brightest  month  am  I; 
My  short  days  end,  my  lengthening  days  begin; 
What  matters  more  or  less  sun  in  the  sky, 

When  all  is  sun  within? 

[He  begins  making  a  wreath  as  he  sings. 

Ivy  and  privet  dark  as  night, 
I  weave  with  hips  and  haws  a  cheerful  show, 
And  holly  for  a  beauty  and  delight, 
And  milky  mistletoe. 

While  high  above  them  all  I  set 
Yew  twigs  and  Christmas  roses  pure  and  pale; 
Then  Spring  her  snowdrop  and  her  violet 
May  keep,  so  sweet  and  frail; 

May  keep  each  merry  singing  bird, 
Of  all  her  happy  birds  that  singing  build: 
For  I  've  a  carol  which  some  shepherds  heard 
Once  in  a  wintry  field. 

[While  December  concludes  his  song  all  the  other  Months  troop 
in  from  the  garden,  or  advance  out  of  the  background.  The 
Twelve  join  hands  in  a  circle,  and  begin  dancing  round  to  a 
stately  measure  as  the  Curtain  falls. 


ABOUT  THE  FOREST  RING 

There  is  nothing  more  enchanting  than  a  Forest  Ring.  In 
its  magic  circle  ^Esop,  LaFontaine,  Joel  Chandler  Harris  and 
Rudyard  Kipling  have  been  face  to  face  with  the  sage  wisdom  of 
animals.  And  it  is  only  in  such  a  place  we  can  ever  find  out 
the  laws  that  govern  supposedly  dumb  creatures.  Mowgli  real- 
ized this  the  night  of  the  famous  elephant  meet. 

"A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream"  is  a  play  of  wonderful 
circles,  of  fairy  spells.  It  is  this  element  that  appeals  to  young 
folks.  And  so  I  have  selected  "The  Forest  Ring"  because  it 
makes  legitimate  use  of  this  great  attraction  —  the  moment  of 
transformation,  when  life  passes  from  a  reality  into  a  dream 
that  is  true.  Does  not  Tennyson  say  —  "Dreams  are  true 
while  they  last,  and  do  we  not  live  in  dreams?"  And  did  not 
Peter  Pan  believe  in  fairies  and  remain  the  Eternal  Boy? 

Mr.  DeMille  and  Mr.  Barnard  have  both  written  plays  for 
the  larger  theater  of  grown-ups,  and  Mr.  DeMille  has  had  a 
strong  hand  in  the  development  of  the  moving-picture.  Whether 
or  not  he  revives  his  interest  in  the  establishment  of  a  Children's 
Theater,  I  do  not  know;  but  "The  Forest  Ring"  was  definitely 
written  for  such  a  place,  and  was  among  the  first  plays  given 
by  Mrs.  Minnie  Herts  Heniger,  at  the  Children's  Educational 
Theater.  "The  Little  Princess"  was  another.  Mr.  DeMille's 
play  is  here  selected  as  an  American  contrast  to  its  English 
cousin,  "Pinkie  and  the  Fairies." 


THE  FOREST  RING 

A  PLAY  IN  THREE  ACTS 


BY  WILLIAM  C.  DEMILLE  AND  CHARLES  BARNARD 


THE  FOREST  RING 
CHARACTERS 

Fairies 

ARBUTUS,  a  poor  but  honest  Fairy  Queen 
Moss  BUD,  her  daughter 
PEACH  BLOOM,  the  Queen's  attendant 
MOUSE  EAR,  The  Queen's  attendant 
QUICKSILVER,  a  fairy  messenger-boy 

Animals 

URSA,  a  bear       \  <£^ 

ANTLERS,  a  deer 
WHITE  FACE,  a  fox 
BLINKERS,  an  owl 

Human  Beings 

JANE  ADAMS,  a  New  York  girl  spending  her  vacation  in  the 

Adirondacks 

AUNT  SABRINA  WATSON,  a  widow 
THOMAS,  her  son 

HANK  STRUBLE,   trapper  and  pot-hunter.    In  love  with  Aunt 

Sabrina 


COPYRIGHT,  1921,   BY  WlLLIAM  C.   DE  MlLLE  AND  CHARLE8  HARVARD. 

No  performance  of  "The  Forest  Ring"  (amateur  or  professional)  may  be  given  without  the 
written  permission  of  the  author,  who  may  be  addressed  care  of  the  publishers,  Little,  Brown 
&  Company,  Boston. 


THE  FOREST  RING 
ACT  I 

SCENE.  A  Fairy  Ring  in  the  forest,  by  moonlight.  Soft  music, 
imitating  sounds  of  crickets,  tree-toads,  and  katydids.  The  Ring 
marked  by  an  arc  of  a  circle  of  light.  Moonlight  through  foliage. 
Music  through  first  scene.  Hollow  tree  up  left.  Curtain  discovers 
Arbutus  asleep,  with  Peach  Bloom  and  Mouse  Ear  asleep  at  her  feet. 

Mouse  Ear  wakes  up,   looks  about  and  falls  asleep    again. 
Peach  Bloom  wakes  and  listens,  and  then  wakes  Mouse  Ear. 
PEACH  BLOOM  (to  Mouse  Ear). 

Hark!     What  distant  sound  is  that  I  hear? 
It  cannot  be  a  stranger  ventures  near! 
Wake,  sister,  for  our  vigil  must  not  cease  — 

MOUSE  EAR  (sleepily). 

'Tis  nothing.     Can't  you  let  me  sleep  in  peace? 

PEACH  BLOOM. 

Wake  up!     I  fancied  that  I  something  heard. 
MOUSE  EAR  (drowsily). 

'Twas  but  the  drowsy  summer  wind  that  stirred. 

PEACH  BLOOM. 

I'm  sure  I  heard  a  footstep  in  the  dell. 

MOUSE  EAR. 

'Tis  but  the  tinkle  of  some  cowslip's  bell. 

PEACH  BLOOM. 

Ah,  well  —  the  night  sounds  always  seem  quite  new; 
(Music  stops) 

It  must  have  been  a  wood-sprite  in  the — in  the 

What  rhymes  with  new,  Mouse  Ear? 


476          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

MOUSE  EAR  (yawns).  Oh,  I  don't  know!  What's  the  use  of 
talking  in  verse,  anyhow?  These  modern  folks  have  knocked 
all  the  poetry  out  of  our  business,  and  I'm  going  to  use 
everyday  prose  after  this.  Why,  they  even  say  there  are 
no  fairies. 

PEACH  BLOOM.     Hush!    Don't  tet  Arbutus  hear  you  say  that. 

MOUSE  EAR.     Why  not?     Everybody  knows  it. 

PEACH  BLOOM.  Yes,  I  know.  But,  for  the  last  seventy-five 
or  eighty  years,  she  has  been  worrying  herself  sick  because 
people  don't  believe  in  us.  It  was  bad  enough  when  grown- 
ups forgot  us,  but  now  even  children  do  not  believe  in  fairies. 

MOUSE  EAR.  Well,  what  can  we  do?  Modern  folks  won't  be- 
lieve in  us  until  they've  seen  us.  And  you  know  it's  against 
the  fairy  law  for  us  to  show  ourselves  to  anyone  who  doesn't 
believe  in  us,  —  isn't  it? 

PEACH  BLOOM.  Ah,  times  have  changed  since  the  good  old  days 
before  Jack's  bean-stalk  withered  away! 

MOUSE  EAR.  Yes,  —  then  we  used  to  get  our  salary  every  ten 
or  fifteen  years,  but  now  it's  only  paid  by  the  century! 

PEACH  BLOOM.     Yes,  and  it  hasn't  been  paid  at  all  since  the 
day  St.  George  killed  the  dragon. 
[Both  sigh. 

MOUSE  EAR.  Poor  Queen,  —  she  tries  so  hard  to  make  both 
ends  meet. 

PEACH  BLOOM.     Hush,  what's  that? 

MOUSE  EAR.     There's  something  coming  through  the  glade 

PEACH  BLOOM.     I  knew  I  heard  something. 
[Both  rise  and  cross  to  left  of  stage. 

MOUSE  EAR  (looking  off).     It  looks  like  a  fairy 

PEACH  BLOOM.     It  is  a  fairy. 

MOUSE  EAR.     Why  —  it's  Moss  Bud! 

PEACH  BLOOM.     It  can't  be;  —  she's  at  boarding-school. 

MOUSE  EAR.     It  is,  though.     Let's  go  and  meet  her  — 

PEACH  BLOOM  (detaining  her).     We  mustn't  leave  the  Queen. 

BOTH  (calling  softly).     Moss  Bud!      Moss  Bud! 

[Enter  Moss  Bud,  running  lightly  across  the  stage;    she  em- 
braces Peach  Bloom  and  Mouse  Ear. 


The  Forest  Ring  477 

MOSS  BUD.  Peach  Bloom  —  Mouse  Ear !  Oh,  how  good  it  is 
to  be  home  again!  Where's  mamma? 

MOUSE  EAR.  There.  But  Her  Majesty  gave  express  orders 
that  she  was  not  to  be  awakened  until  Quicksilver  returned. 

MOSS  BUD.     Why,  where  has  he  gone? 

PEACH  BLOOM.  Arbutus  sent  him  out  with  orders  not  to  come 
back  until  he  had  found  some  man,  woman  or  child  who  be- 
lieves in  fairies. 

MOSS  BUD.     Poor  mamma  —  the  same  old  trouble 

MOUSE  EAR.     But  tell  us,  why  are  you  home  from  school? 

MOSS  BUD.  Why,  don't  you  know?  This  is  my  birth-night 
and  I'm  fifty  thousand  years  old! 

PEACH  BLOOM.  So  it  is.  My !  you're  getting  to  be  quite  a  big 
girl.  It's  too  bad  the  others  are  not  here. 

M(5fes  BUD.     Why,  where  are  the  others? 

MOUSE  EAR  (confidentially).  They're  all  boarding  at  the  seaside 
for  the  summer.  You  see,  business  is  so  bad  just  now  that 
Her  Majesty  couldn't  afford  to  open  her  summer  palace  at 
Coral  Reef,  so  she's  staying  quietly  at  home,  with  nobody 
to  attend  her  but  Peach  Bloom,  Quicksilver  and  me. 

MOSS  BUD.  I  suppose  Quicksilver  is  getting  to  be  quite  a  big 
boy  now. 

PEACH  BLOOM.  Yes,  but  he  never  had  to  work  so  hard  before. 
He  only  got  the  position  of  fairy  messenger,  because  his  uncle, 
Mercury,  was  the  messenger  of  the  gods.  His  "Uncle  Merc " 
left  him  his  winged  shoes,  but  the  careless  boy  lost  one  of 
them  in  the  haunted  pool,  and  whenever  he  tries  to  use  the 
other  he  goes  round  and  round  in  a  circle! 
[They  laugh. 

PEACH  BLOOM.     Here  they  come. 
[Enter  Arbutus. 

ARBUTUS  (waking  up).     Peach  Bloom,  Mouse  Ear 

PEACH  BLOOM  AND  MOUSE  EAR  (crossing  to  her).  Yes,  your 
Majesty. 

ARBUTUS.     Has  Quicksilver  returned  yet? 

MOUSE  EAR.     No,  your  Majesty  —  but  somebody  else  has. 

ARBUTUS.     Who?     What  do  you  mean? 


478  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

MOSS  BUD  (coming  forward).     Don't  you  know  me,  Mamma? 

ARBUTUS.  Why,  Moss  Bud!  My  darling  child,  how  you  have 
grown!  I've  been  so  worried  over  business  trouble,  that  I 
quite  forgot  you  were  coming  back  to-night.  (Embracing 
her)  Welcome  home  again.  I  have  sent  for  you  in  order  to 
talk  over  serious  matters.  (Moss  Bud  makes  a  face)  To 
begin  with,  how  would  you  like  to  leave  school  for  good? 

MOSS  BUD.  Oh,  Mamma,  may  I  really?  I'm  so  tired  of  being 
a  school  sprite,  and  I  do  want  to  be  a  real  grown-up  fairy. 

ARBUTUS.  Well,  my  dear,  you  shall  be!  This  is  your  birth- 
night,  and,  although  you  are  only  fifty  thousand  years  old 
and  have  not  yet  outgrown  your  girlish  ways,  still  I  have 
decided  to  admit  you  to  full-fledged  fairyhood  —  and  teach 
you  all  the  fairy  duties.  But  I  do  not  conceal  from  you  that 
this  doesn't  mean  as  much  as  it  once  did.  The  fairy  busi- 
ness is  on  the  wane.  In  fact,  we  couldn't  even  make  you  a 
birthday  cake  because  we  couldn't  afford  to  buy  fifty  thou- 
sand candles. 

MOSS  BUD.  Never  mind,  Mamma.  If  the  mortals  do  not  be- 
lieve in  us,  we  can  at  least  believe  in  ourselves. 

ARBUTUS.  True,  my  child,  but  I'm  getting  disgusted  with 
mortals.  We  fairies  are  helpless  unless  children  have  faith 
in  us,  and  now  all  our  hard  work  is  in  vain  because  the  wise 
child  of  to-day,  with  all  his  learning,  can't  see  us  all  around 
him!  But  it's  got  to  stop!  If  Quicksilver  is  successful  this 
time,  I  shall  retire  from  the  fairy  business,  and,  as  you  will 
succeed  me  on  the  throne,  you  shall  learn,  to-night,  the  use 
of  the  magic  fairy  wand,  and  the  secret  of  the  Ring.  Peach 
Bloom,  get  my  wand  out  of  the  camphor  chest.  It's  been 
so  long  since  I  used  it  I've  almost  forgotten  how.  (Peach 
Bloom  brings  out  wand  and  polishes  it.  The  wand  glows  with 
electrical  effects  when  Arbutus  uses  it)  Come,  my  daughter, 
give  me  your  last  kiss  as  a  sprite  —  before  you  become  a 
fairy! 

[Moss  Bud  kisses  her  and  kneels,  with  Peach  Bloom  on  one 
side  and  Mouse  Ear  on  the  other.  Arbutus  raises  the  wand 
over  her  in  speaking  the  following,  to  soft  music. 


The  Forest  Ring  479 

Hear  now,  my  child,  that  secret  which,  of  old,    * 
We  guarded  well,  and  which  is  never  told 
Without  consent  of  Fairy  Queen  or  King  — 
Hear  now  the  secret  of  the  Forest  Ring. 

Fairy  of  man,  who  knows  the  secret  rare, 
Can  see  all  creatures  of  the  earth  and  air, 
Each  as  he  is;  and  not  as  he  appears 
To  those  who  have  not  fairy  eyes  and  ears. 

For  every  creature  is  a  human  thing 
Who,  when  he  is  outside  the  magic  Ring, 
Is  forced  to  wear  the  shape  of  beast  or  bird, 
And  cannot  speak  a  single  human  word. 

But  every  creature  who  shall  make  his  way 
Into  the  Ring,  before  the  dawn  of  day 
Is  able,  by  the  circle's  magic  powers, 
To  wear  his  human  shape  a  few  short  hours. 

Within  the  Forest  Ring  all  quarrels  cease  — 
For  all  who  enter  it  must  be  at  peace 
Among  themselves,  and  every  living  thing 
Is  safe,  when  once  within  the  Forest  Ring. 

Take  now  this  secret,  Moss  Bud,  and  beware 
Lest  any  undeserving  mortal  dare 
To  steal  it  from  you:  For  I  bid  you  stand 
A  sprite  no  more  —  but  Princess  of  our  band. 

(Arbutus  raises  Moss  Bud,  and  gives  wand  to  Peach  Bloom. 

To  the  others)     Salute  your  Princess.     (Peach  Bloom  and 

Mouse  Ear  kneel  and  kiss  Moss  Bud's  hand)     Now,  my  child, 

do  you  understand  the  secret? 
MOSS  BUD.     I  think  so.     You  mean  that  when  wild  animals 

come  into  the  Ring,  they  look  and  talk  just  like  human  beings? 
ARBUTUS.     Yes,  or  rather  that  in  the  Ring  they  wear  their 

true  shapes,  which  are  human. 

[Music  stops. 


480          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 


EAR  (looking  off).    Your  Majesty,  three  wild  creatures 
are  approaching  the  Ring. 

ARBUTUS.     Can  you  see  who  they  are? 

PEACH  BLOOM.     Yes  —  Antlers,  White  Face,  and  Blinkers. 

ARBUTUS  (to  Moss  Bud).  Now,  my  child,  you  shall  see  how  the 
magic  power  of  the  Ring  transforms  all  creatures  into  their 
true  selves. 

[Enter,  at  back,  Antlers,  White  Face,  and  Blinkers.  They  ap- 
pear as  men,  each  wearing  around  him  the  skin  of  the  animal 
he  represents.  They  cross  and  bow  to  the  Queen. 

ANTLERS  (roughly).     Arbutus,  we  come  for  justice! 

WHITE  FACE  (putting  him  aside).  One  moment,  my  dear  friends. 
Good  evening,  your  Majesty.  May  I  hope  your  Majesty  is 
as  well  as  your  Majesty's  appearance  is  charming? 

BLINKERS  (stands  and  nods  sleepily  and  wisely)  .     Um  —  Um  - 

ARBUTUS.     Be  welcome,  friends.     How  can  I  help  you? 

ANTLERS.     We  refuse  to  submit  any  longer  to  - 

WHITE  FACE  (stopping  him).  My  very  dear  fellow  —  let  me 
explain.  Your  Majesty,  we  have  the  honour  to  be  a  com- 
mittee from  the  wild  creatures  of  the  forest,  and  we  are  sent 
to  ask  you  to  help  us  against  a  trapper  who  is  violating  the 
forest  law  by  killing  more  than  he  can  use!  Things  have 
come  to  such  a  pass,  your  Majesty,  that  we  cannot  leave  our 
homes,  to  find  food  for  our  children,  without  great  danger 
that,  when  we  return,  we  will  find  the  dead  bodies  of  our  little 
ones  —  which  the  unbeastly  monster  has  skinned  and  thrown 
away  - 

ANTLERS.  It's  worse  than  unbeastly  —  it's  positively  human! 
We  won't  stand  it,  Arbutus  !  We  insist  - 

WHITE  FACE  (stopping  him)  .    Please  —  please  -    (  To  Arbutus) 

We  can  understand,  your  Majesty,  that  a  man  must  kill  to  eat; 

nd,  since  he  has  such  a  useless  skin  of  his  own,  that  he  should 

desire  to  keep  out  the  cold  with  one  of  ours.    But  this  trapper 

takes  the  skins  of  our  little  ones,  and  sends  them  away  - 

BLINKERS  (waking  up).     And  feathers  —  feathers  —  and  tails 
-  and  heads  of  little  owls  —  Ugh  !  - 
[Dozes  again, 


The  Forest  Ring  481 

ANTLERS.     We  want  to  kill  him.     It's  his  life  or  ours !     We  want 

you  to  tell  us  how  to 

WHITE  FACE  (soothing  him).  All  right,  all  right And  so,  your 

Majesty,  the  wild  creatures  thought  that  perhaps  you  could 

suggest  some  way  of  causing  these  outrages  to  stop  before 

we  are  all  killed. 
ARBUTUS.     My  poor  friends,  I  have  often  wondered  how  I 

could  help  you.     Have  any  of  you  thought  of  a  plan  of 

action? 
ANTLERS.     Yes!    Only  let  me  meet  him,  when  he  has  left  his 

gun  at  home,  and  I  promise  you  there  will   be  no  more 

trouble 

WHITE  FACE.     Yes,  but  he  is  never  without  his  gun.     Now,  I 

think  that  some  nice,  gentlemanly  way  would  be  much  better 

—  something  without  noise  or  bloodshed  —  such  as  putting 

poison  in  his  well  or 

ARBUTUS.   No,  no,  fairies  can  have  nothing  to  do  with  any 

such  action.     What  do  you  say,  Blinkers,  —  you,  the  wisest 

of  all  birds? 
BLINKERS  (waking  up) .     Eh  —  oh  —  I  think  —  if  you  want  to 

stop  it  —  it  must  be  stopped  —  by  —  by  —  stopping  it  — 

then  it  will  stop  — 
MOSS  BUD.     Oh,  Mamma,  I  know.     Let  me  use  the  magic 

wand  and  enchant  the  bad  trapper. 

ARBUTUS.     No,  my  child,  it  would  be  useless 

MOSS  BUD.     Why? 

ARBUTUS.     Because,  in  order  that  the  wand  may  have  magic 

power  when  used  in  human  affairs,  it  can  only  be  used  at 

the  request  of  some  child  who  believes  in  fairies.    "This  is  one 

of  those  cases  in  which  nothing  can  be  done  until  such  a 

child  is  found. 
ANTLERS.     A  good  child  who  believes  in  fairies.     Well,  that 

settles  us  —  there's  no  such  thing  as  a  good  child ! 
MOSS  BUD.     Oh,  yes,  there  must  be.     Quicksilver  will  surely 

find  one  to-night. 
PEACH  BLOOM  (who  has  been  watching).     Your  Majesty,  there 

is  a  man  coming  towards  the  Ring. 


482          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

ALL.    A  man! 

BLINKERS  (frightened).    A  man  —  well  —  very  sorry  —  good- 
night. 
[Starts  to  go. 

ARBUTUS.  Wait,  Blinkers  —  everyone  is  safe  in  the  Ring. 
Hide  among  the  trees  until  we  see  who  it  is.  It  may  be 
some  one  who  believes  in  fairies. 

[Animals  and  Fairies  hide.  Enter  Hank  Struble,  the  trapper, 
armed  with  a  gun,  a  huge  hunting-knife  in  his  belt.  He  steals 
up  to  the  cave  and  looks  in  cautiously.  Examines  the  ground 
in  front  of  the  cave. 

HANK  (looking  at  tracks).  By  mighty!  If  this  ain't  the  iden- 
tical cave  where  I  bagged  them  three  cubs  this  mornin' !  The 
old  bar  hain't  come  back  yet  —  eh?  Waal,  I  guess  I  might  's 
well  wait  here  for  her,  an'  make  a  clean  job  of  the  whole 
family.  Lemme  see,  ef  I  git  five  dollars  apiece  for  the  cubs' 
skins,  the  ole  bar's  ought  to  fetch  ten.  How  Sabriny  will 
stare  when  I  give  her  twenty-five  dollars  fur  a  weddin'  pres- 
ent! I  guess  things  is  all  fixed  at  last.  Sabriny  said  to 
come  'round  to-morrow  mornin',  an'  if  she  hadn't  changed 
her  mind  by  then  I  could  tell  folks  we  was  engaged.  (*S»^- 
ting  himself  down  on  the  ground  with  gun  ready  to  fire)  I  hope 
them  'air  cubs  won't  keep  Sabriny  awake  all  night.  They 
did  make  a  powerful  squealin'  when  I  locked  'em  up  in  her 
cellar;  the'r  safe  enough  though,  unless  they  can  break  that 
air  newfangled  Yale  lock.  Lemme  see,  where'd  I  put  that 
key?  (Feeling  in  his  pockets}  Oh,  here  it  is  —  that  letter 
from  New  York  offerin'  me  five  dollars  fur  every  cub  skin  I 
could  git.  Just  come  in  handy.  Feller  writ  that  he  wants 
to  make  'em  inter  floor-mats  —  cover  the  bare  spots  in  the 
settin'-room  carpet,  I  s'pose.  (Laughs)  Don't  that  beat 
all-  (Shivers)  By  mighty,  nights  is  getting  consider- 
able chilly;  must  be  past  midnight —  (Yawns)  I'll  just 
lie  down  a  spell.  'Ef  the  old  bar  comes  back,  I  guess 
I  kin  hear  her  in  time  to  shoot  —  (Yawns)  Ain't  it 
queer  how  the  woods  make  a  feller  feel  —  sorter  drowsy 
—  (Nods)  Cur'us  how  the  pine  trees  are  whisperin' 


The  Forest  Ring  483 

together  's  if  they  was  talkin'  in  their  sleep  —  sounds  just 
like  .  .  . 

[Falls  asleep,  with  the  upper  part  of  his  body  in  the  Ring. 
Animals  and  Fairies  come  down. 

ANTLERS  (creeps  up  and  looks  carefully  at  Hank).  That's  the 
man,  —  I'd  know  him  anywhere.  Now,  I've  got  him  just 
where  I  want  him !  (Advances  threateningly).  I'll  just  stamp 
his  life  out  before 

ARBUTUS.  Stop,  Antlers.  Don't  you  see  he  is  in  the  Ring? 
You  dare  not  touch  him! 

WHITE  FACE.  But,  your  Majesty,  he's  only  half  in  the  Ring! 
Couldn't  we  kill  the  outside  half? 

ARBUTUS.     No,  the  law  of  the  Ring  cannot  be  broken. 

ANTLERS.  But  did  you  hear  what  he  said?  He's  stolen  Ursa's 
children,  and  now  he's  waiting  here  to  shoot  Ursa.  It  will 
be  some  comfort  to  her,  when  she  finds  her  babies  gone,  if  I 
give  her  the  body  of  the  man  who  stole  them. 

ARBUTUS.  Ursa  mustn't  find  him  here;  she  would  attack  him 
as  soon  as  he  left  the  Ring,  and  he  would  kill  her. 

MOSS  BUD.  Oh,  Mamma,  I  know  how  to  get  him  away.  Let's 
give  him  a  dream! 

ARBUTUS.  A  very  good  idea.  See  what  dreams  there  are  in 
the  dreamery. 

MOSS  BUD  (goes  to  hollow  tree  and  calls  down  through  knot-hole). 
Hello!  Down  there  in  the  dreamery,  have  you  any  good 
strong  dreams  on  hand?  (Puts  ear  to  knot-hole)  Yes  — 
there  is  a  fresh  batch  of  plum  pudding  dreams  just  in  from 
the  factory.  (Through  the  knot-hole)  Just  send  up  the 
strongest  you've  got,  please.  (Takes  a  small  paper  parcel 
out  of  the  knot-hole)  Here  it  is,  Mamma,  —  Number  13A. 

ARBUTUS.  Well,  Moss  Bud,  see  if  you  can  use  it  without  a 
mistake. 

[Moss  Bud  takes  package  and  opens  it;  sprinkles  imaginary 
contents  over  Hank,  and  makes  mystic  signs  over  him.  All 
watch  him  intently.  Hank  begins  to  groan  and  toss.  Animals 
are  delighted.  His  symptoms  get  worse,  until,  with  a  cry,  he 
wakes  up,  grasps  his  gun  and  rushes  off.  Fairies  laugh. 


484  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

ANTLERS.     I  shall  never  have  another  chance  like  that! 
WHITE  FACE.     I  still  think  the  law  of  the  Ring  might  have  been 

stretched  a  little. 
BLINKERS  (waking  up).     Eh?     Umph?     What  was  stretched? 

[Goes  to  sleep  again. 
MOSS  BUD.     Oh,  Mamma,  here  comes  poor  Ursa;  she  doesn't 

know  yet  that  her  babies  are  gone. 
ARBUTUS.     Well,  I  can  do  nothing  until  I  find  a  child  who 

believes  in  us. 

[Ursa,  the  bear,  enters,  and  goes  up  to  cave.     She  appears  as  a 

bear,  and  exits  into  cave.     All  watch  mouth  of  cave.    A  growl- 
"  ing  is  heard. 
ANTLERS.     She's  discovered  her  loss! 

[Enter   Ursa  from  the  cave,  as  a  bear.     She  rushes  behind 

rock,  through  which  the  Ring  passes,  and  reappears  in  the 

Ring  as  a  strong  young  woman,  with  a  bearskin  wrapped 

around  her.     She  is   in  great  distress   and   rushes   over  to 

Arbutus. 
URSA.     Arbutus  —  my  babies  —  where  are  they?     (Arbutus  is 

silent)     Where  are  they,  I   say?     (Turning  to   others)     Are 

you  all  dumb?     Where  are  they? 
WHITE  FACE.     Why,  perhaps  they've  just  strayed  off  and  been 

lost;  we  can 

ANTLERS  (interrupting).   No,  White  Face,  this  is  a  time  for  the 

truth —     (To  Ursa)     Where  are  they?     Where  are  all  our 

children?     Where  are  Blinkers'  four  little  ones?     Where  are 

the  two  sons  of  White  Face?   Where  is  my  little  fawn?   Come 

here,  —  do  you  see  those  tracks? 
URSA.    A  man! 
ANTLERS.     When  you  see  the  footprints  of  a  man,  need  you 

ask  where  your  children  are? 

URSA.     No,  no!    Not  that  —  Arbutus 

ARBUTUS.     Ursa,  you  are  only  one  of  many  weeping  forest 

mothers. 
URSA.     My  babies,  my  little  babies!    Why  have  they  robbed 

me?    I  never  hurt  a  man 

ANTLERS.     Because  they  kill  for  the  love  of  killing!     What 


The  Forest  Ring  485 

matters  it  to  them  if  every  shot  leaves  a  vacant  place  in 

cave  or  tree;  they  must  have  their  "sport." 
URSA.     Very  well,  then  I  shall  kill  for  the  love  of  killing.     As 

he  has  treated  my  children,  so  I  will  treat  his.     Hundreds  of 

times  have  I  found  his  young  ones  in  the  woods,  and  passed 

them  unnoticed.     But,  from  this  time  on,  let  him  beware 

how  he  sends  them  into  the  forest.     My  babies  killed 

MOSS  BUD  (crossing  to  comfort  her).     No,  Ursa,  they're  not  killed. 

URSA.     How  do  you  know? 

MOSS  BUD.     The  wicked  trapper  came  here  to  shoot  you,  and 

we  heard  him  say  that  your  babies  were  locked  up  there. 
URSA  (to  the  animals}.     The  man  was  here,  and  you  let  him  go 

alive?    Antlers,  White  Face,  is  this  the  brotherhood  of  the 

forest? 

ANTLERS.     We  could  do  nothing.     He  was  in  the  Ring. 
URSA.     Then,  if  they  are  still  alive,  we  may  rescue  them  —  but 

how?     Blinkers,  you  are  wise,  —  tell  me  how  to  save  my 

little  ones ! 
BLINKERS  (waking  up).     What?    Eh?    Oh,  yes  —  it  must  be 

stopped.     I  told  Arbutus  how,  —  ask  her. 

[Goes  to  sleep  again. 
URSA  (to  Arbutus).    Will  you  use  your  magic  power  to  help 

my  babies? 
ARBUTUS.     Alas!     Unless  Quicksilver  brings  me  the  news  I 

wish,  I  can  do  nothing. 

[Ursa  is  in  despair;  Moss  Bud  comforts  her. 
QUICKSILVER    (outside) .      Halloo!      Halloo!      Make    way    for 

Quicksilver,  the  messenger  of  the  Fairy  Queen. 

[All  listen  attentively. 
ARBUTUS.     At  last ! 

MOSS  BUD.     Oh,  I'm  sure  he  brings  good  news! 
ARBUTUS.     I'm  almost  afraid  to  ask.     Hurry  up,  hurry  up! 

(All  show  their  impatience.     Enter  Quicksilver;    slowly  saun- 
tering across  the  stage,  he  deliberately  kneels  before  Arbutus) 

Well,  get  up  —  get  up  —  what  news? 
ALL.     Yes,  what  news? 
QUICKSILVER    (drawling).     News?     Oh,    yes.     The    Queen    of 


486          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

Cobweb  Ring  told  me  to  tell  you  that  she  has  found  a  girl 
who  believes  in  fairies. 
[All  overjoyed. 

ARBUTUS.  Thank  Heaven!  I  am  no  longer  powerless!  Who 
is  she?  Where  does  she  live? 

QUICKSILVER.     Who?     Where?     (Feels  in  his  clothes)     Now,  I 
had  the  name  and  address  written  on  a  maple  leaf,  but  T 
stopped  to  play  with  some  tadpoles,  and  I  declare  I  must 
have  lost  it! 
[All  collapse.     Exit  Quicksilver. 

ARBUTUS.  Oh,  Heavens,  —  that  boy  will  drive  me  wild!  Moss 
Bud,  ring  tip  Cobweb.  Ring  on  the  grape-vine  telephone. 

MOSS  BUD  (takes  a  flower  hanging  from  a  vine  and  uses  it  as  a 
telephone).     Hello,  Central.     Give  me  one  —  four  —  three  — 
Pine.     Hello  —  that  Cobweb  Ring?     Yes,  what?     Oh!    Just 
got  back  to-night.     Thanks.     Arbutus  wants  the  name  of  the 
girl  who  believes  in  fairies.     What?     Yes,  but  he  lost  it. 
What?    All    right.     Cloverdale    Farm?     Yes,    all   right,  - 
good-bye.  —  The  Queen  says  that  the  girl  is  named  Jane 
Adams,  and  a  mosquito  messenger  reports  that  he  has  just 
left  her  asleep  in  her  room  at  Cloverdale  Farm,  but  that  the 
window  is  wide  open. 

ARBUTUS.  Now,  Moss  Bud,  you  may  see  what  you  can  do 
with  the  magic  wand.  (Peach  Bloom  brings  it)  Take  it  and 
bring  the  child  here  without  waking  her. 

MOSS  BUD  (waving  wand).  Bed  at  Cloverdale  Farm  —  rise 
slowly  and  float  out  of  the  window  —  down  through  the  front 
yard  —  up  the  path  to  the  woods.  Look  out!  gracious,  it 
almost  ran  into  a  big  pine  tree!  Come  through  the  forest 
carefully  —  through  the  glade  to  the  Forest  Ring  —  enter 

the  Ring  —  stop 

[As  Moss  Bud  speaks  the  last  words,  enter  a  single  bed,  with 
Jane  Adams  asleep  on  it,  her  clothes  hanging  over  the  end. 

URSA.     A  human  child! 
[Advances  threateningly. 

ARBUTUS.  Ursa,  you  are  in  the  Ring.  Besides,  on  this  child 
you  must  place  all  hope  of  getting  back  your  children.  (Looks 


The  Forest  Ring  487 

at  Jane)     Ah,  child,  it  has  been  years  since  I  could  appear  to 

a  human  being.     Come,  Moss  Bud,  waken  her. 
BLINKERS.     Eli  —  Wake  —  Who? 

[Others  hurry  him  up  stage  as  he  dozes  again.     Moss  Bud 

whispers  to  Arbutus. 
ARBUTUS.     True  —  I  forgot.     (Moss  Bud  waves  her  wand  over 

Jane  and  her  clothes  fly  off  end  of  bed  and  disappear  under 

the  bed  clothes)     Now  waken  her. 

[Arbutus  looks  tenderly  at  Jane  as  Moss  Bud  waves  wand  and 

Jane  wakens.     Animals  retire  and  Fairies  regard  Jane. 
JANE  (waking).     My,  how  fresh  the  air  is!     Hello!     Where's 

the  ceiling?     Why,  I'm  in  the  woods!     I  must  have  been 

walking  in  my  sleep.     No,  sleep-walkers  don't  carry  their 

beds  with  them.     Goodness,  when  Aunt  Sabrina  finds  out 

that  I've  taken  this  bed  off  into  the  woods  she'll 

[Sees  Moss  Bud  and  stops,  astonished. 
MOSS  BUD.     Don't  be  frightened,  Jane  —  you  are  quite  safe 

with  us. 
JANE.     Oh,  I  wasn't  frightened;  only,  I  would  like  to  know 

where  I  am  and  who  you  are! 
MOSS  BUD.     My  name  is  Moss  Bud,  and  I  am  a  fairy  princess. 

(Rather  proudly)     I  brought  you  here  by  magic.  • 

JANE.     Oh,  goody!     Are  you  a  real  live  fairy  and  not  only  a 

dream?     Can  I  really  touch  you  and  not  wake  up? 
MOSS  BUD.     Yes,  indeed.     Take  my  hand  and  I  will  present 

you  to  mamma;  she's  the  Fairy  Queen. 
JANE.     Wait  a  minute  —  I  can't  get  up  —  I'm  not  -      (Seeing 

her  clothes)  Yes,  I  am,  too  —  well,  if  that  isn't  the  funniest 

thing ! 
MOSS  BUD.     That's  magic  too —     (Jane  takes  her  hand  and 

rises)     Mamma,  this  is  Jane  Adams,  the  girl  we  have  been 

waiting  for. 
ARBUTUS.     Welcome,  my  child.     I  have  been  expecting  you 

for  a  very  long  time.     Tell  me  yourself  —  do  you  really  be- 
lieve in  fairies? 
JANE.     Why,  of  course  I  do!     But  I  didn't  think  they  were 

like  this.     Why,  you're  lots  nicer  than  I  expected!    No,  I 


488  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

don't  mean  that.     I  mean  you're  almost  as  nice  as  regular 

girls 

[Enter  Quicksilver. 
QUICKSILVER.     I've  got  it,  your  Majesty  —  the  girl's  name  is 

Jane  Adams —  and  she  lives  at 

MOUSE  EAR.     Be  careful,  Quixy  —  if  you  work  so  hard  in  this 

hot  weather,  you'll  get  moonstroke 

JANE.     Who  is  that,  Moss  Bud? 

MOSS  BUD.     That    is    Quicksilver,    our   messenger;     there   are 

Peach  Bloom  and  Mouse  Ear  —  the  rest  of  the  girls  are  away 

for  the  summer. 
JANE.     Why,  this  must  be  a  Fairy  Ring  —  like  the  one  I  read 

about  in  my  fairy  stories! 
MOSS  BUD.     Yes,  it  is.     But  do  you  know  the  secret  of  the 

Forest  Ring? 
JANE.     You  mean  about  the  animals  not  being  really  animals 

but  having  feelings  like  ours?     Oh,  yes. 
ARBUTUS.     Then,  Jane,  I  may  tell  you  why  you  were  brought 

here  to-night.     (Beckons  to  Ursa)     This  is  Ursa,  a  mother 

bear,  who  has  just  been  robbed  of  her  little  ones. 
JANE.     Oh,  I'm  so  sorry!     But  wait,  were  they  three  little 

brown  cubs? 

URSA.     Cubs!     Cubs!    My  children  were  three  as  well  be- 
loved babies  as  a  mother  could  wish  for. 
JANE.     Oh,  excuse  me  —  but  I  know  where  they  are! 
URSA.     You  do?    Are  they  safe? 
JANE.     Yes,  —  but    I'm    afraid   they're   very   hungry  —  they 

haven't  had   anything   to  eat  since   Hank   brought  them 

home. 

URSA.    Oh !  —  But  can  we  get  at  them? 
JANE.     Why,  they're  locked  in  the  cellar  of  Aunt  Sabrina's 

house.     There's  only  one  door  to  it,  and  Hank  carries  the 

key  to  it  in  his  pocket. 

URSA.     Take  me  to  them;   if  it's  only  breaking  a  door  in  — 
JANE.     Oh,  but  you  couldn't!     Hank  would  shoot  you  before 

you    could    do    anything,    and,    besides,   the   door   is   too 

strong. 


The  Forest  Ring  489 

MOSS  BUD.     We  could  open  the  door  by  magic. 

JANE.  But  Hank  would  follow  the  tracks  and  shoot  the  cu  — 
the  children. 

ARBUTUS.     Well,  we  must  do  something  before  long 

JANE.     I  know  what  —      (To  Ursa)     Can  you  dance? 

URSA.  Dance?  Dance  like  a  trained  bear? 

JANE.  That's  all  very  well,  Ursa,  but  if  you  want  to  save  your 
babies  you  can't  be  so  very  particular. 

URSA.     You  are  right  —  I'm  sorry  —  go  on 

JANE.     Well,  then,  can  you  dance? 

URSA.     To  get  back  my  babies  I  can  do  anything. 

JANE.  Very  well.  Now  listen.  You  come  back  to  the  house 
with  me,  and  let  me  put  a  chain  and  collar  on  you.  (Ursa 
starts  up  indignantly  and  then  subsides)  Then,  when  anybody 
sees  us,  you  can  dance,  and  I'll  say  you  are  my  tame  bear; 
then,  when  no  one  is  looking,  we  can  get  the  key  —  some- 
how —  and  I'll  unlock  the  cellar  door  —  and  when  we  get 
to  the  edge  of  the  woods,  I'll  take  off  the  chain,  and  you  and 
the  little  ones  can  run  home  to  your  cave. 

URSA.  Yes,  we  could  do  that.  I'll  be  a  trained  bear  for  you 
—  but  if  anyone  else  dares  to  touch  the  chain  I'll 

JANE.  Now,  look  here!  If  I'm  going  to  help  you  out  in  this, 
you've  got  to  do  just  as  I  say.  Will  you  promise? 

URSA.     Well,  but  —  yes  —  yes,  I  promise ! 

JANE.  Well,  then,  remember  this  —  that,  whatever  happens, 
you  must  not  hurt  a  single  man,  woman  or  child. 

URSA.     But,  if  they  hurt  my  babies,  I'll 

ARBUTUS.     You  must  promise,  Ursa,  or  we  cannot  help  you. 

URSA.     Well,  then  —  I  promise. 

JANE.  All  right.  I'll  take  you  back  with  me  to-night,  and 
you  can  stay  in  my  room. 

ARBUTUS.     My  dear,  you're  a  child  after  the  fairy  heart. 
[Ursa  talks  aside  with  Peach  Bloom  and  Mouse  Ear. 

JANE  (to  Arbutus).  Now,  your  Majesty,  do  you  think  it  is 
safe  for  me  to  take  this  bear  among  people?  I  really  don't 
know  her. 

ARBUTUS.     Well,  my  child,  I  know  she  is  good  and  kind  in  the 


490  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

forest,  but  I  am  afraid  that  if  a  naughty  boy  should  begin 
teasing  her  she  might  forget  her  promise. 

JANE.     Couldn't  you  send  a  fairy  along  to  prevent  any  trouble? 

ARBUTUS.  Yes,  I  can  send  Peach  Bloom  with  the  magic  wand; 
she  would  see  that  you  came  to  no  harm. 

MOSS  BUD.  Oh,  Mamma,  do  let  me  go  —  I  would  be  just  as 
careful!  See  how  safely  I  brought  the  bed  here. 

ARBUTUS.  Oh,  my  dear,  I'm  afraid  you  haven't  had  experience 
enough.  Remember,  you're  only  fifty  thousand  years  old ! 

MOSS  BUD.  Oh,  but  I  know  I  can  do  it,  and  I  like  Jane  so 
much!  I  want  to  help  her  save  the  little  bears. 

JANE.  Yes,  your  Majesty  —  I'm  sure  we  could  get  along  all 
right. 

ARBUTUS.  Well,  as  this  is  your  birth-night,  I  suppose  I  must 
consent.  But  here,  take  this  little  book  —  "Every  Man  His 
Own  Fairy"  —  and  if  you  get  into  any  trouble,  you  will  find 
all  the  fairy  rules  and  charms  in  it.  Here  is  the  wand,  Moss 
Bud,  —  be  very  careful  of  it  and  don't  use  it  unless  you  have 
to.  Now,  Ursa,  remember  your  promise. 

ANTLERS  (coming  down).  It's  nearly  dawn.  We  must  be  off. 
(To  Ursa)  Good-bye,  sister,  and  good  luck. 

WHITE  FACE.  Let  me  wish  you  every  success  in  your  under- 
taking. 

BLINKERS.  What?  Eh?  Going  away?  Well,  take  care  of 
yourself. 

MOSS  BUD.     Come  on,  Jane  and  Ursa. 
[They  get  on  the  bed. 

ARBUTUS.  Good-bye,  Jane.  You  are  going  on  a  dangerous  er- 
rand of  mercy,  and  I  wish  you  fairy  good  fortune. 

JANE.  Good-bye,  your  Majesty,  I'm  sure  we'll  succeed. 
Good-bye  all. 

[Bed  starts  to  move.     The  moon  goes  under  a  cloud,  and  the 
stage  becomes  dark. 

ALL.     Good-bye !  —  Gook  luck !  —  Good-bye ! 

[Their  voices  are  heard  getting  fainter  and  fainter.     Lights  up 
gradually  on  empty  stage.     Sunrise.     Fairy  music. 

CURTAIN 


The  Forest  Ring  491 


ACT  II 

SCENE.  The  front  yard  before  Aunt  Sabrina  Watson's  house, 
with  view  of  porch  and  front  door.  Over  the  door  is  a  second- 
story  window,  open.  At  left  of  house  door  is  a  cellar  door  leading 
to  cellar  under  house.  This  door  is  closed  and  locked  with  a  Yale 
lock.  Old-fashioned  sweep  well  and  bucket. 

TIME.  Early  morning.  Curtain  music,  Grieg's  Morgenstim- 
mung.  Curtain  rises  on  empty  stage.  A  pause. 

Enter  Thomas  from  house,  with  a  book  in  one  hand,  which  he 
is  eagerly  reading,  and  a  water  bucket  in  the  other.  He  puts 
bucket  under  well  spout,  and  reads. 

THOMAS  (reading).  "Takin'  careful  aim,  Buckskin  Bill,  the  boy 
bear  hunter,  pulled  the  trigger,  and  with  a  deafenin'  report 
the  tremenjus  animile  fell  over  on  its  side  and  expired." 
Gosh!  Ain't  that  jest  great,  though! 

SABRINA  (outside).     Thoma-as!    Thoma-as!! 

THOMAS.  Yes'm  —  I'm  comin'.  (He  draws  a  bucket  of  water 
and  starts  reading  again)  "Suddenly  the  bushes  parted, 
and  with  noiseless  tread  his  old  enemy,  the  injun,  stood 
before  him."  (Looking  up)  Geemunny!  (Reading  eagerly) 
"Throwing  aside  his  now  useless  weepon,  Buckskin  grasped 
his  trusty  knife,  an*  lookin'  the  Chief  right  in  the  eyes 

said " 

SABRINA  (outside).  Land  sakes,  Thomas!  —  air  you  waitin'  to 
dig  a  new  well  out  there?  (Enter  Aunt  Sabrina  from  house) 
Didn't  I  tell  you  I  was  waitin'  for  that  water  to  make  the 
tea  for  breakfast?  Well,  if  that  shiftless  boy  ain't  reading 
again !  Mighty  souls,  I  guess  if  I  want  anything  done  around 
here  I  might's  well  make  up  my  mind  to  do  it  myself. 
(Thomas,  absorbed  in  book,  does  not  notice  her.  She  comes 
angrily  and  takes  bucket)  Why,  what  on  airth's  the  boy 
readin'?  Thomas!  (Thomas  starts  and  tries  to  hide  the  book) 
Thomas  —  where'd  you  get  that  book? 

THOMAS.  Why  —  one  of  them  city  fellers  give  it  to  me.  It's 
all  about  bars  and  things,  and  it's  a  sight  more  interestin' 


492          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

than  that  "Pilgrim  Progress"  you  gave  me  last  Christmus. 
Say,  Ma,  I  want  to  be  a  bar  hunter. 

SABRINA.  Humph,  you'd  better  learn  how  to  do  your  chores 
right  before  you  start  out  to  shoot  wild  critters  —  (Turning 
toward  house)  Ain't  that  Jane  Adams  come  down  yet? 

THOMAS.     No'm,  I  hain't  see  her. 

SABRINA  (calls  up  to  window).  Jane  —  Jane! —  (No  answer) 
It  does  beat  all  how  them  city  folks  can  lie  abed  and  sleep 
mornings. 

THOMAS.  Say,  Ma,  kin  —  kin  I  go  out  with  Hank  to-morrow? 
I  jest  know  I  kin  shoot  a  bar. 

SABRINA.  Humph!  —  that's  what  comes  of  readin'  them  good- 
for-nothin'  city  books;  —  these  bar  stories  is  all  foolishness 
anyhow.  There  used  to  be  quite  some  bars  round  here,  but 
since  Hank's  been  gittin'  after  'em  they've  got  scurcer  than 
lay-locks  in  January.  I  don't  believe  there's  ben  a  bar 
within  five  miles  o'  this  house  in  ten  years.  (Here  the  bear's 
head  appears  at  Jane's  window  and  she  listens  with  interest. 
They  do  not  observe  the  bear)  Hank  did  ketch  three  cubs 
yestiddy,  and  the  next  time  he  wants  to  use  my  cellar  for  a 
bar-pen  he'll  have  to  do  a  powerful  lot  of  persuadin'! 

THOMAS.     Oh,  Ma,  won't  you  just  let  me  have  one  peek  at  'em? 

SABRINA.  You'll  have  to  wait  till  Hank  comes  —  he's  got  the 
key.  (Smelling)  Mighty  souls,  them  pop-overs  is  burnin'. 
[Exit  hurriedly  with  pail.  Thomas,  greatly  excited,  tries  to 
look  between  the  cracks  of  cellar  door  at  cubs. 

THOMAS.     If  I  could  only  see  them  as  plain  as  I  smell  'em! 
[Enter  Hank  at  back  with  gun,  etc. 

HANK.     Mornin',  Thomas.     Widder  Watson  to  hum? 

THOMAS.  Yep  —  she's  gettin'  breakfast.  Say,  Hank,  won't 
you  tell  me  how  you  ketched  them  cubs  —  an'  lemme  see  'em? 

HANK.  Tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Thomas;  if  you'll  tell  your  ma 
to  come  out  here  for  a  minute  and  then  clear  out  fur  a  while 
yourself,  I'll  let  you  help  me  skin  them  cubs  after  breakfast! 

THOMAS.     All  right.     (Starts  to  go)     Say,  Hank 

HANK.     What? 

THOMAS.     What  do  you  want  me  to  clear  out  fur? 


The  Forest  Ring  493 

HANK.  Why Go  on,  now;  —  don't  ask  questions  an*  mebbe 

I'll  take  you  huntin'  next  week.     (Thomas  exits.     Hank  looks 

around  and  shudders)     Ugh !     By  mighty,  ef  that  warn't  the 

all-powerfullest  dream  that  ever  war  dreamt  —  it  warn't  fur 

from  it. 

[Enter  Sabrina. 

SABRINA.     Mornin',  Mr.  Struble.     You're  jest  in  time  for  break- 
fast.    Why,  mighty  souls,  man  —  you  look  as  if  you'd  been 

used  to  harrer  a  field  with! 
HANK.     Mornin',  Sabriny  —  I  ben  out  in  the  woods  all  night 

after  the  mother  of  them  cubs. 
SABRINA.     Humph,  you  look  more  as  if  the  mother  o'  them 

cubs  had  been  after  you. 
HANK  (shudders).     Sabriny  —  do  you  —  do  you  b'leeve  dreams 

ever  come  true? 

SABRINA.     They  dew  say  that  if  you  tell  a  dream  before  break- 
fast, it'll  come  true  inside  of  a  week.     Why,  have  you  been 

havin'  a  dream? 
HANK.     Sabriny  —  I  didn't  know  there  was  dreams  like  I  had 

last  night! 

SABRINA.     What  was  it  all  about? 
HANK.     I  ain't  agoin'  to  tell  you  nothin'  'bout  it  till  after 

breakfast. 
SABRINA.     Well,  I  didn't  git  a  chance  to  dream  none,  if  I'd  a 

wanted  to  —  witfh  them  three  cubs  a  celebratin'  Fourth  o' 

July  and  Thanksgivin'  all  night  long! 
HANK.     I'm  really  sorry,  Sabriny,  if  they  bothered  you  any. 

Pappy  White's  comin'  over  to  help  me  kill  'em  this  mornin'. 

But  that  dream  o'  mine  was  the  dod  beatenest  dream  — 
SABRINA.     Well,  you  know  I  told  you  what'd  happen  if  you 

eat  that  extry  half-dozen  doughnuts  fer  supper. 
HANK.     It  wasn't  a  doughnut  dream,  Sabriny.     Besides,  your 

doughnuts  couldn't  give  a  feller  a  dream  like  that  —  not  ef 

he  sh'd  eat  a  hundred  of  'em. 

SABRINA  (very  much  pleased).     Well,  what  do  you  s'pose  'twas? 
HANK.     I'll  tell  you,  Sabriny;  —  I  believe  it  was  because  I'd 

been  worryin'  so  about  your  answer.     (Sabrina  starts  away; 


494  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

he  catches  her  hand.)  Don't  go,  Sabriny.  You  told  me  you'd 
let  me  know  this  mornin'.  Jest  say  "yes"»  Sabriny,  an' 
I'll 

THOMAS  (entering  suddenly).  Say,  Hank,  can't  I  see  them  cubs 
now? 

SABRINA  (drawing  her  hand  away  quickly).  Breakfast's  jest 
about  ready,  Mr.  Struble.  You  stay  and  have  some  with 

us 

[Exit  into  house. 

THOMAS.     Can't  I  see  them  cubs  now,  Hank? 

HANK.  Thomas  Watson,  —  I'd  like  ter  send  your  skin  to  New 
York  with  them  cubs! 

THOMAS.     But  Hank,  can't  I  see  them  cubs? 

HANK.  No  —  you  can't !  (Bears  head  appears  at  window 
unnoticed  by  them)  Them  cubs  is  valuable.  They're  safe 
in  that  cellar  now,  and  there  they'll  stay  till  I  get  good 
and  ready  to  kill  'em.  (Ursa  excited)  That's  the  beauty  of 
them  'air  Yale  locks.  Lemme  see  —  Where'd  I  put  that 
key  —  (Feels  in  his  pocket)  By  mighty,  I  b'leeve  I've  lost 
it !  —  No,  here  it  is. 
[Taking  it  out. 

THOMAS.     Aw,  Hank,  lemme  see  them  cubs! 

HANK.  No,  sir.  After  the  way  you  come  in  here  just  now,  I 
won't  let  you  see  them  cubs  until  they're  all  skinned.  (At 
this  Ursa,  terribly  excited,  gives  a  loud  growl  and  Hank, 
startled,  drops  the  key  on  the  ground.  He  does  not  notice  it, 
but  Thomas  does,  and  puts  his  foot  on  it.  Just  as  Hank,  star- 
tled by  the  growl,  looks  up,  the  bear's  head  is  quickly  jerked 
back  and  Jane  appears  in  the  window  and  smiles  at  Hank. 
Pause)  By  mighty! 

JANE.     Good  morning. 

HANK.     What  on  airth  was  that? 

JANE.     What? 

HANK.     Didn't  you  hear  nothin'? 

JANE.     Why  —  I  yawned  —  what  did  you  think  it  was? 

HANK.  Nothin'  —  nothin'  —  (Aside)  I  b'leeve  that  dream 
has  turned  me  stark,  starin'  crazy. 


THE  FOREST  RING 
Act  II. 

Thomas.— "I'd  like  to  meet  a  real  old  soker,  and  cow  him  with 
my  eye. " 


The  Forest  Ring  495 

SABRINA  (in  house).     Come  in  to  breakfast. 

[Hank  collects  himself  with  a  start  and  exits  into  house.     Thomas 

picks  up  key  and  Jane  sees  him.     Thomas  looks  after  Hank. 
JANE  (to  Ursa).     Oh,  Ursa,  Thomas  has  got  the  key!     It  will 

be  ever  so  much  easier  to  get  it  from  him  than  Hank!  — 

come 

[They  disappear  from  window. 
THOMAS  (looking  after  Hank).     You  won't  let  me  see  them 

cubs,  eh?     Well,  then,  I'll  jest  look  at  'em  anyhow. 

[He  crosses  to  cellar  door. 

SABRINA  (in  house).     Thomas 

THOMAS  (startled).     Yes'm!  —  I'll  be  right  in. 

[Starts  to  unlock  door  as  Jane  and  Moss  Bud  enter  from  house. 

Thomas  hears  them,  starts  guiltily,  and  stands  with  the  key 

behind  his  back. 

JANE.     Look  out,  Moss  Bud,  he'll  see  you! 
MOSS  BUD.     You  forget;   I'm  invisible  to  all  except  you. 
JANE.     Oh,  yes.     What's  the  matter,   Thomas  —  aren't    you 

going   to   have   any   breakfast?     (Thomas    doesn't    answer) 

What  have  you  behind  your  back? 
THOMAS.     Nothin'. 

JANE.     Oh,  you  can't  fool  me.     I  saw  you  pick  that  key  up. 
THOMAS.     You  ain't  goin'  to  be  a  tattletale,  are  you? 
JANE.     Not  if  you'll  let  me  see  what's  in  the  cellar. 
THOMAS.     What !     You  look  in  that  cellar  —  why,  there's  bars 

in  there!     They'd  frighten  a  girl  most  to  death. 
JANE.     Aren't  you  afraid  of  bears? 

THOMAS.     Who,  —  me?     No,  I've  been  readin'  all  about  Buck- 
skin Bill,  the  boy  bar  hunter,  and  I  know  that  if  you  jest 

look  a  bar  right  in  the  eyes  steady  —  he  can't  do  nothin' 

to  yer. 
JANE.     I'll  try  not  to  be  frightened.     Do  let  me  see  the  little 

bears ! 
THOMAS.     Naw.     Girls  ain't  built  to  look  at  bars.     If  you  was 

a  hunter,  now,  like  me  —  but  you  ain't.     I  only  wish  they 

was  bigger.     I'd  like  to  meet  a  real  old  soker,  and  cow  him 

with  my*  eye  —  jest  like  Buckskm  Bill  —     (He  starts  to  un- 


496          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

lock  door.  Jane  beckons  into  house,  and  Ursa  quickly  comes 
and  stands  right  behind  Thomas.  She  stands  on  her  hind  legs, 
waving  her  paws)  Gosh!  These  locks  is  pesky  things  to 
undo !  Yes-sirree,  if  I  could  only  meet  a  real  big  bar  I'd  — 
[Here  he  catches  sight  of  Ursa.  He  begins  to  tremble,  and 
finally,  with  a  yell,  rushes  off,  leaving  the  key.  The  others 
show  delight  and  amusement.  Moss  Bud  picks  up  key. 

JANE.  Thank  Heaven,  we've  got  it!  Here,  Moss  Bud,  give 
it  to  me.  Fairies  don't  know  how  to  open  Yale  locks. 
(She  takes  key)  Now,  you  look  out  and  see  if  anyone  comes, 
and  we'll  have  these  little  bears  safe  at  home  before  Hank's 
through  breakfast. 
[Jane  starts  to  unlock  door.  Ursa  tries  to  help  her. 

MOSS  BUD.     Look  out,  Jane!    Somebody's  coming! 

JANE.     Quick  —  get  Ursa  out  of  sight ! 
[Moss  Bud  leads  Ursa  behind  house. 

SABRINA  (entering).  I  thought  I  heard  you  talkin'  out  here. 
Ain't  you  goin'  to  eat  no  breakfast? 

JANE.     Yes,  Aunt  Sabrina  —  I'll  be  in  there  in  a  minute. 

SABRINA.     Your  tea'll  be  stone  cold.     Where's  Thomas? 

JANE.     Why,  he  went  out  toward  the  barn  a  minute  ago. 

SABRINA.  Well,  this  is  the  first  time  since  Thomas  was  born 
that  he  hain't  been  here  at  meal-time.  What  on  airth's  the 
matter  with  you,  child?  You  stand  there  fidgetin'  around 
like  a  chipmunk  in  a  trap.  What  have  you  got  in  your 
hand  there? 

JANE  (opening  her  left  hand).     Nothing,  Aunt  Sabrina. 

SABRINA.  Jane,  you've  been  doin'  somethin*  you  ought  not  to! 
Open  your  other  hand.  (Jane  does  so  slowly,  and  the  key  falls 
out)  What's  that? 

JANE.     Why  —  it  looks  like  a  key. 

SABRINA  (picking  up  key).  Jane  Adams,  it's  the  key  to  that 
cellar  door.  How  did  you  get  it? 

JANE.  It  —  it  was  lying  on  the  ground  there,  and  I  picked 
it  up. 

SABRINA.  Why,  child  alive,  that  cellar's  full  of  wild  growlin' 
bars;  I  s'pose  that  careless  Hank  lost  the  key  out  of  his 


The  Forest  Ring  497 

pocket.     I'll  jest  keep  it  for  a  while  to  give  him  a  lesson. 

Come  in  to  breakfast. 

[Exit  into  house.    Enter  Moss  Bud  and  Ursa. 

MOSS  BUD.     What's  the  matter,  Jane? 

JANE.  Oh,  Moss  Bud,  Aunt  Sabrina's  got  the  key  now,  and  I 
know  we  can  never  get  it  from  her!  (Ursa  is  in  despair,  and 
the  others  comfort  her)  Don't  cry,  Ursa.  We'll  get  your 
babies  out  somehow. 

MOSS  BUD.  You  shouldn't  have  let  the  key  go  when  you  once 
had  it! 

JANE.  Well,  it  won't  help  to  tell  me  what  I  should  have  done; 
the  question  is,  what's  to  be  done  now? 

MOSS  BUD.     Well,  there's  only  one  thing  I  can  see  to  do;  — 
we  must  open  the  door  by  magic ! 
[Bear  brightens  up. 

JANE.  That's  so,  we  can!  Where's  your  rule  book,  Moss 
Bud? 

MOSS  BUD.  Here  it  is  —  let's  see (Turning  over  pages)  Ah, 

here  we  are  —  Rule  No.  47  —  "To  open  a  locked  door." 

JANE.  But  wait  a  minute.  Hank  said  he  was  going  to  kill  the 
cubs  right  after  breakfast  —  and  he's  almost  through  break- 
fast by  this  time  —  so  that,  if  we  take  them  out  now,  we 
won't  have  time  to  get  them  safely  home  before  he  follows 
their  tracks  and  shoots  them. 

MOSS  BUD.     That's  so  —  we  must  keep  him  here  somehow. 

JANE.  I'll  tell  you  what  we  can  do.  You  put  a  magic  spell 
on  the  door  so  that,  after  we  have  taken  out  the  little  bears, 
Hank  will  not  be  able  to  open  the  door  —  and  won't  know 
the  cubs  have  gone 

MOSS  BUD.  That's  just  fine!  (Turning  over  pages)  There 
must  be  a  rule  here  that  will  answer.  Yes  —  here  it  is  — 
Rule  No.  56  —  "To  prevent  a  door  being  opened  by  its  own 
key."  How  will  that  do? 

JANE.     That's  just  the  thing.     Go  ahead,  we  must  be  quick! 

MOSS  BUD  (reading  from  book).     "Oh,  door,  I  hereby  command 
you,  in  the  name  of  Arbutus,  to  hear  and  obey  this  spell  - 
(Makes  mystic  signs)     Nek  you  roy  nopo  in  eman  sutubra." 


498          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

Now,  Jane,  I've  put  spell  No.  56  on  the  door,  and  I'd  like 
to  see  Hank  or  anyone  else  open  it  with  a  key! 

JANE.  That's  fine,  Moss  Bud.  I  want  you  to  teach  me  that 
spell.  But  now,  open  the  door  by  magic. 

MOSS  BUD.     Oh,  that's  easy.     Let's  see,  where  was  it  —  oh, 

yes  —  Rule  No.  47  —  "To  open  a  locked  door" (Makes 

more  mystic  signs)     "Oh,  door,  I  hereby  command  you,  in 
the  name  of  Arbutus,  to  hear  and  obey  this  spell,  —  Nopo 
ilkiok  ta  ecno.     Open!" 
[Pause.     Nothing  happens. 

JANE.     What's  the  matter,  —  why  doesn't  it  open? 

MOSS  BUD.  I  must  have  said  a  word  wrong.  I'll  do  it  again 

(Mystic  signs)  "Oh,  door,  I  hereby  command  you,  in  the 
name  of  Arbutus,  to  hear  and  obey  this  spell.  Nopo  ilkiok 
ta  ecno.  Open"  (Pause.  Nothing  happens)  Open,  I  say 

(Pause)  Oh,  Jane,  I  don't  know  what's  the  matter.     It 

won't  open.  (Begins  to  cry)  Mamma  oughtn't  to  have  put 
me  in  charge  of  this  case.  I'm  too  young. 

JANE.  Come  —  come  —  we  haven't  time  to  cry.  Let  me  see 
the  rule  book.  (Takes  it)  Oh,  Moss  Bud,  did  you  put 
spell  No.  56  on  the  door? 

MOSS  BUD  (between  sobs).  Yes,  of  course,  —  Rule  No.  56  — 
"To  prevent  a  door  being  opened  by  its  own  key." 

JANE.  Well,  now  you've  done  it !  Look  here,  you  should  have 
put  on  spell  No.  55.  Number  56  is  "To  prevent  a  door 
being  opened  by  anything  except  its  own  key."  Oh  dear, 
oh  dear,  even  magic  can't  open  it  now!  You  should  have 
opened  the  door  first,  and  then  put  the  other  spell  on.  (Be- 
ginning to  cry)  You're  only  a  poor,  ignorant  fairy,  and 
you've  ruined  everything  by  your  crazy  magic! 
[Jane,  Moss  Bud  and  Ursa  all  weep  together. 

THOMAS  (outside) .     Hank  —  Hank ! 

JANE  (drying  her  eyes).     Good  gracious!     Here's  Thomas  back 
again;  he'll  get  Hank  and  they'll  shoot  Ursa;  —  take  care  of 
her,  Moss  Bud.     I  must  get  the  collar  and  chain  from  the 
barn. 
[Exits  quickly.     Enter  Hank  from  house  with  gun. 


The  Forest  Ring  499 

HANK.     By  mighty,  if  there  ain't  a  bar  in  the  yard! 

[He  advances  and  raises  gun  to  shoot.    Just  as  he  is  about  to 

pull  the  trigger,  Moss  Bud  pricks  him  in  the  leg  with  a  thorn. 

He  cries,  "Ouch,"  and  the  gun  goes  off  in  the  air.     Ursa  rises 

and  prepares  to  show  fight.     Hank  drops  his  gun  and  takes 

out  his  knife.     Sabrina  appears  in  doorway. 
SABRINA.     Mighty  souls!     Hank,  look  out,  come  in  the  house. 

Don't  try  to  fight  that  bar  with  nothin'  but  a  knife! 

[Hank  and  Ursa  menace  each  other,  when  Jane  enters  quickly, 

with  collar  and  chain,  followed  by  Thomas. 

JANE.     Hank  —  Ursa  —  stop ! 

SABRINA.     Thomas  —  Jane  —  go  to  the  barn!    Do  you  both 

want  to  be  killed  alive? 
JANE  (going  to  Ursa).     Ursa,  remember  your  promise 

[Ursa  quiets  down,  and  Jane  puts  collar  on  her. 
HANK.     By  mighty! 
SABRINA.     Mighty  souls! 
THOMAS.     Geemunny ! 
JANE.     Hank,  I'm  surprised  at  you.     An  old  hunter  like  you 

not  being  able  to  tell  the  difference  between  a  wild  bear  and 

a  tame  one! 
HANK.    A  tame  bar! 
JANE.     Certainly,   I'll  show  you—     (She  whispers  to   Ursa) 

Now,  do  whatever  I  tell  you  —      (Aloud)      Ursa  —  lie  down 

—  (Ursa  follows  directions)     Roll  over  —  Get  up  —  Speak 

—  Dance  with  me 

[Music;  dance  between  Jane,  Ursa  and  Moss  Bud.  Exclama- 
tions of  astonishment  from  the  others. 

THOMAS.  ^  Ain't  that  jest  great,  though!  Say,  Jane,  lemme 
hold  the  chain? 

SABRINA.  Thomas  Watson,  don't  you  dare  go  near  that 
critter 

THOMAS.     Aw  —  ma  —  jest  lemme  hold  the  chain ! 

JANE.     You  see,  she's  perfectly  gentle. 

HANK.     She  didn't  look  it  a  couple  of  minutes  ago. 

SABRINA.  There's  somethin'  powerful  queer  about  this. 
How'd  you  happen  to  get  hold  of  a  tame  bar? 


500          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

THOMAS.     Say,  Ma  —  can't  I  jest  hold  the  chain? 
SABRINA.     Thomas  Watson 

[Thomas  subsides. 
HANK.     Wa'al,  I  guess  this  must  be  quite  a  valuable  bar.     The 

best  thing  to  do  with  it  is  to  lock  it  up  in  the  cellar,  along 

with  them  cubs,  and  then  sell  it  to  the  first  circus  that  comes 

along. 

JANE.     But  Hank,  you  can't  sell  my  bear. 
SABRINA.     Your  bar!  Jane  Adams,  you  didn't  have  that  when 

you  come  up  from  New  York. 
HANK.     Besides,  it  ain't  safe  fur  little  girls  to  play  with  bars. 

No  —  I'll  jest  lock  it  up  in  the  cellar.     Lemme  see,  —  where 'd 

I  put  the  key? 

[Feels  in  his  pocket. 
JANE  (to  Moss  Bud).     Moss  Bud  —  we  must  get  that  key,  and 

this  is  our  only  chance ! 

[Whispers  to  her. 

HANK.     By  mighty!    I've  lost  it  this  time,  sartin'! 
SABRINA.     I  told  you  you'd  lose  it,  carryin'  it  around  loose  in 

your  pocket.     (Producing  it)     Here  it  is;    I  was  goin'  to 

keep  it  awhile  to  teach  you  a  lesson,  but  I  guess  you'd  better 

lock  up  that  bar! 

[Hank  takes  lock  in  his  hand  and  puts  out  the  other  for  the  key, 

looking  at  lock.     Sabrina  hands  it  to  him,  but  Moss  Bud  puts 

her  hand  over  Hank's  and  takes  key  from  Sabrina,  unseen  by 

all  but  Jane.     Jane  has  led  Ursa  up  back,  and  has  allowed 

Thomas  to  hold  the  chain. 

HANK.     Wa'al,  gimme  the  key,  Sabriny 

SABRINA.     My  lands,  man !    I  gave  it  to  you  once  —  you  must 

have  dropped  it ! 
HANK.     I  hain't  never  teched  it,  Sabriny.     You  must  have 

dropped  it  yourself. 
SABRINA.     Hank  Struble,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  I  don't 

know  the  difference  between  givin'  you  a  key  and  droppin' 

it? 

HANK.     Sabriny  Watson!  don't  you  suppose  I  know  the  dif- 
ference between  takin'  a  key  and  not  takin'  it? 


The  Forest  Ring  501 

SABRINA.     Jane,  come  and  help  look  for  that  key. 

[Jane  is  on  one  side  of  the  well,  and  Moss  Bud,  during  the 

foregoing,  has  come  up  delightedly  and  is  just  handing  her  the 

key  across  the  well  as  Sabrina  calls  "Jane."     Jane,  startled, 

drops  the  key  down  the  well  and  she  and  Moss  Bud  look  blankly 

at  each  other. 
JANE.     All  right,  Aunt  Sabrina.     Oh,  Moss  Bud,  the  key's  in 

the  well,  and  we  can  never  —  never  —  get  it  out ! 

MOSS  BUD.     We  can  try  magic 

JANE.     No,  thank  you  —  we've  tried  that  once  too  often  now. 

[They  pretend  to  search. 
SABRINA.     I  tell  you,  Hank  —  you  must  have  put  the  key  in 

your  pocket. 

HANK.     And  I  tell  you,  Sabriny,  I  hain't  teched  the  blame  key. 
SABRINA.     Well,  in  the  meanwhile,  what's  going  to  happen 

to  the (Seeing  Thomas  and   Ursa)     Thomas  Watson ! 

[Thomas  drops  chain  quickly. 
THOMAS.     Aw,   Ma,  can't   I  jest  hold  the  chain?     (Sabrina 

starts  toward  him)     All  right,  Ma,  I  won't  —  I  only  come 

up  here  to  get  a  drink. 

[Thomas  draws  a  bucket  of  water. 

HANK.     Sabriny  Watson  —  I  b'leeve  you're  hidin'  that  key! 
SABRINA.     Hank  Struble  —  I  tell  you  that  —  I  felt  you  take 

that  key  jest  as  plain  as  I  ever  felt  anything  before  in  my  life. 
HANK.     Now  quit  yer  foolin',  Sabriny.     I  felt  your  hand  in 

mine,  but  there  warn't  nothin'  in  it. 
SABRINA.     Hank  Struble,  I  tell  you  for  the  last  time  that 

[Here  Thomas,  who  has  been  drinking  at  the  well,  coughs  vio- 
lently and  spits  the  key  out.     Everybody  looks  at  everyone  else. 
SABRINA.     Thomas  Watson,  how'd  you  get  that  key? 
THOMAS  (frightened) .     I  don't  know  how  I  got  the  key  —  honest, 

Ma,  I  don't. 
HANK.     Wa'al,  here  it  is  anyhow  —  (Starts  for  the  key.     Jane 

and  Moss  Bud  in  despair  when  Ursa  makes  a  rush  and,  facing 

Hank,  sits  on  the  key  and  refuses  to  move)    Here,  get  off  that 

key 

[Ursa  waves  her  paw  at  him. 


502          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

SABRINA.     Look  out,  Hank!    Jane,  you  make  the  critter  move. 
JANE.  All  right — —  (Aside  to  Ursa)  Sit  still,  Ursa (Aloud) 

Get  up (Pushes   her.     Aside)     Don't   move,   whatever 

you  do.     (Aloud)     Get  up  —  get  up (To  others)    It's  no 

use,  —  she  won't  budge ! 
HANK  (picking  up  gun).     She  won't,  eh?     Wa'al,  we'll  see  about 

that!     Trained  bars  is  all  very  well,  but  if  they  won't  mind 

they  ain't  trained.     Besides,  I  b'leeve  that's  the  very  bar 

I've  been  trackin'  for  two  weeks  —  she's  smelt  her  cubs  here 

and  come  after  'em. 
JANE.     Yes,  it  is  the  mother  of  those  cubs;  she's  come  all  the 

way  from  her  cave  to  find  them  and  take  them  home  again. 

Won't  you  let  them  go,  Hank? 
HANK.     Let  'em  go,  after  all  the  trouble  I've  had  to  get  'em? 

Why,  do  you  s'pose  I  tracked  them  cubs  a  hull  day  jest  to 

let  'em  go  again?    Besides,  how  do  you  know  she's  the  mother 

of  them  cubs? 

JANE.     I  know  it  because  she  told  me  so. 
SABRINA.     Jane  Adams,  air  you  completely  mad  —  or  jest  lyin'? 
JANE.     Oh,  I  suppose  you  won't  believe  me,  but  last  night  I 

went  to  the  cave  by  the  Forest  Ring,  and  saw  all  the  fairies 

and  animals,  and  the  Fairy  Queen  herself  said  she  would 

help  me  give  the  little  bears  to  their  mother. 
THOMAS.     Gee-muimy ! 
HANK.     If  you  ever  was  near  that  cave,  you  might  have  had  a 

dream  like  mine  —  about  fairies  and  things,  —  but  you  don't 

suppose  I'm  goin'  to  lose  a  couple  of  hard  days'  work  jest  on 

account  of  a  dream,  do  you? 
JANE.     But  it  wasn't  a  dream.     I  saw  them  as  plainly  as  I  see 

you  —  and  besides,  here's  Ursa  —  to  prove  it  —  and  Moss 

Bud.     Moss  Bud,  can't  you  show  yourself  and  tell  them 

I'm  right? 

MOSS  BUD.     They  haven't  entered  the  Ring;  they  can't  see  me. 
SABRINA.     What  on  airth  air  you  talkin'  about?    A  Moss  Bud 

—  an'  fairies ! 
JANE.     Can't  you  see  her?    Look  —  here 

[All  look  at  Moss  Bud  and  don't  see  her. 


The  Forest  Ring  503 

SABRINA.     You've  got  a  tech  o'  sun,  wanderin'  round  the  woods 

without  a  hat  on;  or  else  them  story-books  has  turned  your 

head. 
HANK.     Wa'al,  I've  got  to  go;  I  ain't  agoin'  to  wait  no  longer 

fur  that  pesky  critter  to  get  up.     If  she  ain't  off  that  key 

when  I  git  my  gun  loaded,  I'll  shoot  her  off  it 

[Starts  to  load  gun. 

SABRINA.     Thomas  —  come  in  here !    A  wounded  bar's  a  dan- 
gerous critter. 
THOMAS.     Oh,  Ma  —  I  hain't  seen  the  cubs  yet! 

[Sabrina  and  Thomas  talk  in  pantomime. 
JANE.     Oh,  Moss  Bud,  whatever  shall  we  do?     Everything  has 

gone  wrong,  and  if  poor  Ursa's  killed  it  will  be  our  fault! 
MOSS  BUD.     Oh,  I  can't  think  of  anything (Turning  over 

pages  of  book  quickly)     There  isn't  a  single  rule  here  that 

will  do  any  good.     I  wish  I'd  never  come! 

[Begins  to  cry. 
JANE.     What's  the  use  of  magic  if  you  can't  use  it  when  you 

really  need  it?     You're  only  a  cry-baby  fairy! 
HANK.     Now,  the  gun's  loaded  —  when  I  say  three  I'm  goin* 

to  shoot (Levels  gun)     One,  'two 

JANE.     Ursa,  get  off  the  key  - 

[Ursa  does  so,  growling.     Moss  Bud  restrains  her. 
HANK  (lowers  gun  and  picks  up  key).     I  kinder  thought  you 

could  make  her  move  if  you'd  a  mind  ter.     (Crosses  to  cellar) 

I'll  jest  kill  them  cubs  now,  and  then  there  won't  be  no  more 

trouble. 
SABRINA.     Look  out,  Hank,  —  if  the  old  bar  sees  her  cubs 

she'll  show  fight. 
HANK.     Wa'al,  by  mighty,  if  she  does,  it's  the  last  fight  she'll 

ever  show! 

[Pats  his  gun  and  starts  to  unlock  door. 
MOSS  BUD.     Oh,  Jane,  I  can't  hold  Ursa  back  any  longer 

[Hank  is  bending  over  the  door;    the  bear  rushes  toward  him. 
He  seizes  his  gun  to  fire,  but  the  bear,  turning  suddenly,  catches 
up  Thomas  and  holds  him  in  front  of  her. 
SABRINA.     Hank  —  don't  shoot  —  you'll  hit  Thomas! 


504  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

JANE  (rushing  up  and  seizing  Ursa).     Ursa,  don't  you  dare 

hurt  that  boy  —  don't  you  dare 

HANK.     Keep  quiet,  Thomas;   don't  move,  and  she  won't  hug 

you. 

[Hank  lowers  his  gun  and  Jane  and  the  bear  carry  Thomas 

across  stage. 
JANE  (keeping  one  hand  on  the  bear).     Aunt  Sabrina,  if  you  free 

her  children,  she'll  let  yours  go. 

SABRINA.     Unlock  the  door,  Hank  —  quick 

HANK.     It'll  only  make  her  madder,  Sabriny,  to  see  her  cubs 

now. 
JANE.     Very  well.     You  can't  expect  a  bear  to  know  that  it's 

all  right  for  a  man  to  steal  her  children,  but  wrong  for  her 

to  steal  his. 

SABRINA.     Hank !    Hank,  get  my  boy  back  for  me ! 
JANE.     You  take  care  of  the  little  bears  and  I'll  take  care  of 

Thomas. 

[Jane,  Ursa,  carrying  Thomas,  and  Moss  Bud  start  to  exeunt. 

As  soon  as  Ursa  turns  her  back  to  Hank,  he  levels  gun,  but 

Jane  turns  Ursa,  who  stands  with  Thomas,  in  front  of  her. 

Sabrina  pulls  Hank's  gun  down.    Moss  Bud  points  toward 

the  Ring. 

CURTAIN 

ACT  III 

\ 

SCENE.     The  Forest  Ring  as  in  Act  I. 

TIME.  The  next  night,  early  evening.  The  sun  has  just  set 
and,  after  the  curtain  rises,  the  stage  is  at  first  very  dim  with  the 
red  light  of  sunset,  but  gradually  the  moon  rises  and  stage  becomes 
light. 

DISCOVERED.     Arbutus,  Peach  Bloom,  Mouse  Ear  and  Quick- 
silver.    Peach  Bloom  and  Mouse  Ear  are  looking  off  anxiously. 
Arbutus  is  seated,  giving  Quicksilver  a  lesson  out  of  a  book.     He  is 
standing  before  her. 
ARBUTUS.     No,  Quicksilver,  that's  very  bad  indeed!     I  don't 

believe  you've  studied  an  atom.     If  you  don't  know  your 


The  Forest  Ring  505 

history  any   better   than   this    one,   you   can't    have  any 
supper. 

QUICKSILVER  (beginning  to  cry) .     I  can't  help  it,  your  Majesty 

-  I've  been  so  excited  about  Jane  and  Ursa,  that  I  didn't 

sleep  a  wink  all  day,  and  I  just  couldn't  study  the  old  lessons. 

ARBUTUS  (sternly).  Quicksilver!  Such  language  is  only  worthy 
of  a  human  child!  The  idea  of  a  fairy  not  knowing  his  les- 
sons! Give  me  the  history.  (Quicksilver  gives  her  book, 
sulking).  Now,  who  first  used  the  expression,  "Fi  —  fi,  fo 
—  fum"? 

QUICKSILVER  (hesitates  and  thinks).  Fee  —  fi  —  fo  —  fum  — 
Oh,  I  know.  It  was  what  Cinderella  said  when  they  told 
her  she  couldn't  go  to  the  ball. 

ARBUTUS.  You  know  perfectly  well  that's  not  right.  Now, 
I'll  give  you  one  more  chance.  What  was  the  first  name  of 
the  Giant  Killer? 

QUICKSILVER  (hesitates  —  the  Queen  looking  at  the  book  —  and 
then  he  slowly  bends  one  of  his  wings  around,  looks  intently  at 
the  end,  and  speaks).  Jack. 

ARBUTUS  (looking  up  and  seeing  his  last  action).  Quicksilver  — 
come  here  —  let  me  see  your  wing !  (He  does  so  reluctantly) 
Quicksilver,  I'm  ashamed  of  you.  (He  begins  to  cry)  Where 
do  you  suppose  little  fairies  go  who  write  answers  on  their 
wings?  Leave  the  Ring  —  and  don't  come  back  until  I  send 
for  you.  (He  takes  his  book  and  exits,  weeping.  Arbutus 
turns  to  Peach  Bloom  and  Mouse  Ear)  No  news  of  Jane  and 
Moss  Bud? 

PEACH  BLOOM.     No  news,  your  Majesty. 

ARBUTUS  (crossing  and  looking  off).  It's  very  strange;  they 
should  have  been  back  by  now.  Mouse  Ear,  run  and  tell 
Quicksilver  jto  go  and  find  out  what  has  become  of  them. 
Tell  him  to  make  haste,  and  to  let  me  know  the  instant  he 
discovers  anything. 

MOUSE  EAR.     Yes,  your  Majesty. 
[Exits. 

ARBUTUS.  I  can't  understand  it;  —  if  anything  has  happened 
to  them  I  shall  never  forgive  myself. 


506  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

PEACH  BLOOM.     Look  here,  your  Majesty,  there's  something 

coming  now 

ARBUTUS.     Is  it  Ursa?  —  can  you  see? 
PEACH  BLOOM.     No  —  it's  only  Blinkers 

[Enter  Blinkers.     He  crosses  and  bows  clumsily  to  Arbutus. 
BLINKERS.     Your  Majesty  —  I  bring  news ! 

[Goes  to  sleep. 
ARBUTUS.     Ah !  at  last  I  shall  hear  from  them.     Great  Heavens ! 

He's  gone  to  sleep!     Peach  Bloom,  wake  him  up. 

[Peach  Bloom  pokes  him;  he  grunts  and  wakes  up. 
BLINKERS  (thickly).     Don't  do  that!     What's  the  matter? 
ARBUTUS.     Quick,  Blinkers,  tell  me  the  news. 
BLINKERS.     Your  Majesty,  all  the  hens  have  gone  on  strike. 
ARBUTUS.     Is  that  all  you've  got  to  tell  me? 
BLINKERS.     Yes,  isn't  it  enough?     The  hens  say  they  won't 

stand  the  employment  of  scab  labour. 

[Arbutus  impatiently  crosses  and  looks  off  stage. 
PEACH  BLOOM  (to  Blinkers).     What  do  they  mean  by  that? 
BLINKERS.     They  say  scab  labour  is  taking  the  worms  out  of 

the  mouths  of  their  children.   (Getting  eloquent)    The  wages  of 

setting  hens  are  almost  nothing  since  people  began  to  use 

incubators. 

[Goes  to  sleep.    Enter  Mouse  Ear. 
ARBUTUS.     Well? 

MOUSE  EAR.     He's  gone  to  look  for  them,  your  Majesty. 
ARBUTUS.     Look  there,  —  who's  that? 
WHITE  FACE  (entering  with  Antlers,  and  kneeling  to  Arbutus). 

Only  White  Face  and  Antlers,  your  Majesty.     We  thought, 

perhaps,  there  might  be  news  from  Ursa. 
ANTLERS.     Yes  —  have  they  come  back? 
ARBUTUS.     No,  we've  had  no  news. 
PEACH  BLOOM.     Here  they  come,  your  Majesty. 

[All  look  off. 
MOUSE  EAR.     Yes,  that's  Ursa,  and  there  are  Moss  Bud  and 

Jane. 

ANTLERS.     But  what's  that  Ursa's  carrying? 
WHITE  FACE.     It  looks  to  me  much  like  a  human  being. 


The  Forest  Ring  507 

ARBUTUS.     A  human  being! 

WHITE  FACE.  Yes;  we'd  better  retire  until  we  see  what  it  all 
means. 

[Animals  and  Fairies  hide.  Enter  Moss  Bud,  leading  Ursa, 
still  wearing  collar  and  chain,  and  carrying  Thomas,  followed 
by  Jane.  Ursa  appears  as  a  bear,  and  keeps  outside  the  Ring. 
Thomas  appears  unconscious.  They  cross  right,  and  set 
Thomas  on  the  ground.  He  stands  on  his  feet,  but  with  his 
body  bent  over  and  unconscious. 

JANE.  Thank  goodness,  we're  here  at  last!  That  was  a  very 
good  idea  of  yours,  Moss  Bud,  putting  Thomas  into  a  magic 
sleep.  (Seeing  Thomas)  Good  gracious,  he'll  have  a  rush 
of  blood  to  the  head  if  we  leave  him  like  that  —  —  (She 
straightens  Thomas  up.  His  body  yields  to  her  hand  and  re- 
mains in  the  position  in  which  she  places  him)  But  now  that 
he's  here,  what  shall  we  do  with  him? 

MOSS  BUD.  Why  don't  you  let  me  turn  him  into  a  fairy? 
I  believe  I  could  do  it. 

JANE.     Oh,  no,  that  would  never  do! 

[Ursa  in  pantomime  says  to  take  him  into  her  cave. 

JANE.  No,  I  don't  think  he'd  better  go  into  the  cave.  You  go  in, 
Ursa,  and  leave  Thomas  to  me;  I  promise  you  not  to  let  him 
go.  ( Ursa  goes  into  the  cave)  Now,  Moss  Bud,  awaken  Thomas. 
[Arbutus  and  her  attendants  have  entered  at  back  during  scene, 
and  Arbutus  now  comes  forward. 

ARBUTUS.  Wait,  Moss  Bud.  (Moss  Bud  joins  the  others  at 
back,  coming  to  Jane)  We  welcome  you  back  again,  my  child, 
but  before  this  boy  is  permitted  to  see  the  Fairy  Ring,  I 
must  know  if  he  believes  in  fairies. 

JANE.     No,  your  Majesty,  he  doesn't  now  —  but  he  soon  will. 

ARBUTUS.     Oh,  I  see.     Very  well,  then,  since  you  ask  it  I  will 
let  him  see  us,  even  though  he  doesn't  believe  —  in  us. 
[She  touches  Thomas's  eyes  and  he  wakes  slowly. 

THOMAS  (stretches  and  slowly  feels  himself  all  over;  then  sees  the 
Fairies  and  stands  astonished).     Geemunny! 
[While  Thomas  is  waking,  the  Animals  have  come  in  and  have 
been  eagerly  discussing  Thomas  in  pantomime. 


508  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

BLINKERS   (to  Arbutus).     That's  him  —  that's  the  boy  who 

robbed  my  nest  and  stole  my  children!     Now  we've  got 

him! 

THOMAS.     N-no,  sir,  I  hain't  never  seen  your  children. 
JANE  (Crossing  to  Thomas  who  begins  to  get  frightened.   Aside). 

Thomas,  if  you  want  to  get  out  of  this  alive,  do  just  as  I 

tell  you. 
WHITE  FACE.     Oh,  yes (Crossing  and  shaking  his  fist  at 

Thomas}     I  recognize  him  now.     He  caught  my  eldest  son 

in  a  fox-trap.     Well,  I've  been  wanting  a  boy-skin  rug  for 

some  time.     I  think  this  one  will  do  nicely. 

[Thomas  is  behind  Jane,  very  much  frightened. 
JANE.     But  you  can't  hurt  him  while  he  is  in  the  Ring. 
ANTLERS  (coming  down).     Yes,  I  can.     The  law  is  that  he  who 

hurts  anyone  in  the  Ring  is  never  allowed  to  enter  it  again. 

Very  well,  I  shall  kill  this  human  cub,  and  then  say  good- 
bye to  the  Ring  forever. 

[He  advances  towards  Thomas,  who  cowers  behind  Jane,  and 

Jane  stops  Antlers. 

JANE.     Your  Majesty,  can't  you  save  him? 
ARBUTUS.     If  they  all  have  said  it  true,  he  deserves  punish- 
ment.    Antlers  has  told  you  the  forest  law. 
ANTLERS.     Keep  out  of  the  way,  girl 

[Advances  towards  Thomas. 
THOMAS.     Here  —  keep  off  —  I  hain't  never  done  nothin'  to 

you. 

[Antlers  pushes  Jane  aside,  and  seizes  Thomas. 
JANE  (calls).     Ursa  —  Ursa! 

[Enter  Ursa  as  in  Act  I,  passing  behind  rock  and  appearing 

as  a  woman. 

URSA.     What's  the  matter? 
JANE.     Oh,  Ursa,  save  Thomas! 
URSA.     Antlers  —  stop  —  what  are  you  trying  to  do? 
WHITE  FACE.     Don't  stop  him,  Ursa.     He's  only  hunting. 
URSA.     Antlers  —  leave  him  alone !     He's  mine  — 
ANTLERS.     What  do  you  want  with  him?     He's  not  good  for 

anything. 


The  Forest  Ring  509 

URSA.     Oh,  yes,  he  is.     This  is  a  very  valuable  boy.     He's 

been  trained  to  do  tricks. 

[Animals  astonished.     Ursa  motions  to  Jane. 
JANE  (whispering  to  Thomas).     Do  whatever  she  tells  you. 
URSA.     Thomas  —  come   here  —     ( Thomas  follows  directions. 

Ursa  takes  the  collar  and  chain  from  her  neck  and  puts  them 

on  Thomas)     Lie  down  —  roll  over  —  walk  like  an  animal  — 

growl  —  show  your  teeth.     (To  others)     You  see  how  well 

trained  he  is. 
BLINKERS  (crossing  to   Thomas  and   poking  him  in  the  ribs). 

Hoot (Thomas  hoots  like  an  owl)     Very    good.   Who 

trained  him? 
CTRSA.     Oh,  boys  are  very  quick  animals  to  learn  tricks !     Well, 

he's  done  enough  now.     Come  along. 

[She  takes  the  chain  and  leads  him  back  into  the  cave,  passing 

behind  rock  and  going  in  as  a  bear. 
WHITE  FACE.     Hush !     I  hear  something  in  the  bushes. 
AUNT  SABRINA  (outside) .     Thomas  —  Thomas 

[All  listen  attentively. 
ANTLERS.     What  is  that? 

AUNT  SABRINA  (nearer).     Thomas  —  Thomas 

JANE.     Good  gracious !     It's  Aunt  Sabrina  looking  for  Thomas. 
ARBUTUS.     Meet   her,   Jane,   and   tell  her  that  her  child  is 

safe. 
JANE.     But  I  may  bring  her  into  the  Ring?     She  says  she 

doesn't  believe  in  fairies. 
ARBUTUS.     All  good  mothers  really  believe  in  fairies,  even 

though  they  call  them  by  very  different  names. 
JANE.     All  right,  your  Majesty,  I'll  bring  her  in. 

[Exits. 
WHITE  FACE.     Your  Majesty,  I  don't  want  to  complain,  but 

don't  you  think  that,  if  you  let  human  beings  into  the  Ring, 

you'll  ruin  its  reputation? 
ARBUTUS.     Not  if  they  are  the  right  ones. 
BLINKERS.     White  Face,  you  talk  too  much. 
ANTLERS.     Here  they  come. 

[Animals  and  Fairies  form  background  for  this  scene.     Enter 


510  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

Jane  and  Aunt  Sabrina.     Sabrina  is  very  tired,  and  her  clothes 

are  torn  in  her  struggle  through  the  bushes. 
JANE.     Now,  remember,  Aunt  Sabrina,  the  animals  really  look 

like  men  and  women. 

AUNT  SABRINA.     You're  sure  Thomas  ain't  hurt? 
JANE.     He's  not  even  scratched. 
AUNT  SABRINA.     Ef  anyone  had  told  me  this  mornin'  that  I'd 

be  trapesin'  round  the  woods  talkin'  to  animals  and  fairies 

and  things (Seeing  Arbutus)   Land  sakes !   Jane,  that 

woman'll  catch  her  death  o'  cold  out  here  without  nothin' 

round  her 

JANE.     Hush  —  that's  the  Fairy  Queen!     (To  Arbutus)     Your 

Majesty,  this  is  Aunt  Sabrina. 

[Arbutus  extends  her  hand  to  be  kissed.     Sabrina  grasps  it. 
SABRINA.     How-de-do,  ma'am.    Jane's  been  tellin'  me  all  about 

you,  and  I've  come  to  ask  you  to  give  me  my  boy. 

[Enter  Ursa  as  before. 
URSA.     Arbutus,  if  I'm  going  to  get  back  my  children  I 

[Sees  Sabrina,  and  stops  suddenly.     Ursa  and  Sabrina  look  at 

each  other. 
SABRINA  (to  Ursa).     If  you  really  love  them  cubs  as  if  they  were 

children,  how  could  you  keep  my  Thomas  out  here  in  the 

woods,  as  if  he  were  a  wild  critter? 
URSA.     If  you  really  love  that  awkward  trap-setting  boy  as  if 

he  was  good  and  beautiful  how  could  you  keep  my  children 

shut  up  between  four  walls,  away  from  all  fresh  air,  as  if 

they  were  human? 
SABRINA.     Why,  they  can't  feel  it  like  a  person  could;  they're 

only  dumb  animals! 
URSA.     Do  you  suppose  that  because  animals  can't  talk  they 

are  deprived  of  all  feeling? 

SABRINA  (after  a  pause).  I  hain't  never  thought  of  it  like  that. 
JANE.  You  do  see  how  wrong  it  is,  don't  you,  Aunt  Sabrina? 
ARBUTUS.  Yes,  I'm  sure  she  does.  And  now  I  want  you  two 

mothers  to  be  the  best  of  friends.     (She  joins  Aunt  Sabrina's 

hand  with  Ursas)     Ursa  will  take  you  to  your  boy,  and  Jane 

and  I  will  arrange  about  getting  Ursa's  children  back  to  her. 


The  Forest  Ring  511 

SABRINA.     I'm  afraid  you  can  never  make  Hank  let  'em  go. 

JANE.     We'll  take  care  of  Hank! 

[Ursa  leads  Sabrina  into  the  cave.     Enter  Quicksilver. 

QUICKSILVER.  I've  found  out  all  about  them,  your  Majesty. 
Jane  and  Ursa  stole  a  boy  this  morning,  and  ran  away  with 
him.  I  tracked  them  to  the  edge  of  the  forest  where  all 
trace  of  them  is  lost. 

[All  laugh.  Ursa  comes  out  of  cave  and  joins  Jane.  They 
talk  in  pantomime. 

ARBUTUS.  Very  good,  Quicksilver.  You  are  as  good  a  mes- 
senger-boy as  I  know. 

MOSS  BUD  (running  down  to  Arbutus) .  Oh,  Mamma,  there 's  a  man 
creeping  through  the  bushes  with  his  gun,  all  ready  to  shoot ! 
[Arbutus  motions  others  back.  They  form  group  at  the  back, 
and  watch  Hank,  who  now  enters,  creeping  along  the  ground, 
following  the  tracks  of  Ursa  and  Jane. 

HANK  (following  the  tracks).  By  mighty,  th'  ole  bar's  making 
straight  fer  her  cave.  No,  she's  stopped  here  and  —  gosh 
all  fish-hooks!  She  set  Thomas  down  here,  and  he  stood 
up  on  his  feet.  That  means  she  hain't  hurt  him.  Hello !  — 

what's  this (Shakes  his  head  sorrowfully)     I  thought  so! 

Poor  little  Thomas  —  here  he's  been  lyin'  on  the  ground, 
and  she's  rolled  him  over  twicet.  I  don't  know  what  Sa- 
briny'll  do.  She  was  powerful  fond  o'  that  boy.  It's  lucky 
she  didn't  come  out  to  look  fer  him  like  she  wanted  to. 
Must  a  been  quite  a  rumpus  kicked  up  here,  by  the  looks 
o*  the  ground.  Jane's  tracks  is  all  over  the  place.  It  ain't 
nat'ral  fer  a  gal  to  be  runnin'  round  the  woods  with  bars 
and  wild  critters!  (Pausing  suddenly)  By  mighty!  (De- 
cidedly) She's  a  witch  —  I  knowed  it  all  along !  Yes,  sir  — 
that's  the  reason  that  black  cat  o'  Sabriny's  thinks  such  a 

heap  of  her! •  (Looking  into  cave)     I  b'lieve  that  bar's  in 

there  now.     Wa'al,  I'll  make  sure  work  of  her  this  time. 

There's  something  movin*  back  thar (Levels  gun  into 

cave,  then  lowers  it.     When  Hank  raises  gun,  Blinkers  stops 
his  ears)     I  can't  seem  to  see  jest  whar  she  is. 
[Peers  intently  into  cave  and  then  levels  gun  again. 


512  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

JANE  (running  out  and  appearing  before  Hank).  Hank,  don't 
shoot ! 

HANK.     Hello,  it's  the  witch! 

JANE.  Don't  fire  into  the  cave.  Aunt  Sabrina  and  Thomas  are 
in  there. 

HANK.  Yes,  I  know  mighty  well  that  Thomas  is  in  there  — 
or  ruther  his  remains  is!  But  Sabriny's  to  hum  cryin'  her 
eyes  out.  You're  a  nice  one  to  tell  me  not  to  shoot  in  here, 
when  you've  brought  this  hull  peck  o'  trouble  on  us.  No, 
sir,  ef  I  didn't  know  you  was  a  witch,  and  that  the  bullet 'd 
go  clean  through  yer  'thout  hurtin'  yer,  blamed  ef  I  wouldn't 
shoot  you  fust,  and  then  the  bar! 

JANE.     But  I'm  not  a  witch,  Hank. 

HANK.     I  ain't  agoin'  to  look  at  yer,  and  then  yer  can't  put 
no  spell  onto  me. 
[Peers  into  cave  again. 

JANE  (back  to  Arbutus).     Don't  let  him  shoot,  your  Majesty. 

ANTLERS.     Don't  stop  him,  Arbutus. 

WHITE  FACE.  Why,  his  shooting  into  the  cave  will  simplify 
everything. 

BLINKERS.     I  wish  it  didn't  make  so  much  noise. 

JANE.  Please,  your  Majesty,  if  anybody's  hurt  it  will  be  my 
fault.  Don't  let  Hank  shoot! 

ARBUTUS.     Well,  for  your  sake  I'll  stop  him. 

[Waves  her  wand;  Hank  has  been  aiming  into  cave  and,  just 
as  he  is  about  to  pull  the  trigger,  Arbutus's  act  makes  the  gun 
fly  out  of  his  hand  and  disappear.  He  looks  after  it  in  blank 
amazement;  then  his  eye  falls  on  Jane,  who  has  come  down 
stage. 

HANK.     I  s'pose  you  think  that's  real  funny,  don't  you? 

JANE.     I  didn't  do  it,  Hank. 

HANK.  Oh,  no,  o'  course  you  didn't  have  nothin'  'tall  to  do 
with  it!  Guns  is  used  to  flyin'  out  o'  people's  hands  and 
vanishing  inter  the  air!  It's  quite  the  reg'lar  proceedin' 
nowadays,  hain't  it? 

JANE.     But  I  tell  you  I  didn't  do  it,  —  the  fairies  did ! 

HANK.     Why,  o'  course,  the  fairies  done  it  all!    They  brought 


The  Forest  Ring  513 

that  bar  to  Sabriny's  house,  and  put  her  up  to  carryin'  off 

Thomas,  didn't  they? 
JANE.     Yes,  certainly  they  did. 
HANK.     Wa'al  then,  ef  there  really  be  fairies,  they  might  better 

ha'  minded  their  own  business. 
JANE.     Would  you  believe  in  fairies  if  you  saw  one? 

HANK.     I  dunno  —  mebbe  I  would 

JANE  (back  to  Arbutus).     Let  him  see  you,  your  Majesty.     I'm 

sure  it  would  convince  him ! 
ARBUTUS.     Well,  it's  against  the  rules  —  but  just  this  once. 

[Gives  the  wand  to  Moss  Bud  who  comes  and  touches  Hank's 

eyes.     He  sees  them  all,  and  stands  petrified  with  astonishment. 

HANK.     By  mighty ! 

ANTLERS.     Now,  Arbutus,  since  you  have  revealed  us  to  this 

man,  you  must  make  him  answer  the  charges  against  him. 
WHITE  FACE.  Yes,  I  think  we  should  come  to  an  understanding. 
BLINKERS.  He  hasn't  got  his  gun.  Skin  him  and  pick  his 

feathers  out! 
ARBUTUS.     Hank,  the  wild  things  of  the  forest  say  you  kill 

them,  not  for  food,  but  because  you  like  killing. 
HANK.     No,  marm,  that  hain't  true.     What's  the  difference 

between  killin'  game  to  eat,  and  killin'  it  to  get  money  to 

buy  things  to  eat! 
BLINKERS.     But  nobody  eats  owls. 
HANK.     Yes  —  but  if  I  didn't  shoot  owls  somebody  else  would. 

No,  if  you  want  to  stop  the  killin'  of  owls  and  harmless  crit- 
ters like  that,  it  ain't  the  hunters  you  want  to  talk  to.     It's 

the  fine  folks  in  the  city  who  wears  bird's  wings  and  such 

foolishness  in  their  hats  that's  to  blame,  —  not  us  men  who 

has  to  hunt  for  a  livin*. 
ARBUTUS.     That  does  not  excuse  the  hunter  who  does  what  he 

knows  is  wrong  just  for  the  money  it  will  bring  him. 
HANK.     That's  so  —  I  hadn't  never  thought  o'  that. 
ARBUTUS.     As  guardian  of  the  forest  creatures,  I  have  returned 

good  for  evil.     Do  you  know  why   I  caused  your  gun  to 

disappear? 
HANK.     No'm.     I  thought  I  did,  but  I  guess  I  don't. 


514  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

ABBUTUS.     Then  look! 

[She  waves  her  wand,  and  Sabrina  and  Thomas  enter  from  the 

cave. 

JANE.     You  see,  Hank,  I  told  you  they  were  there. 
SABRINA.     Wa'al,    Hank,   I   was    wonderin'    what   time  you 

'xpected  to  get  here. 

[Thomas  joins  Jane;  Moss  Bud  touches  his  eyes,  and  he  is  in- 
troduced to  the  others. 
HANK  (looking  at  her,  dazed).     An*  if  I'd  a  shot  into  that  cave, 

I'd  a  killed  Sabriny!     (To  Arbutus)     That  settles  it,  marm 

—  I'll   never  shoot   another   harmless  critter    s'long  as   I 

live! 
URSA  (coming  down).     This  is  all  very  well,  but  how  about  my 

babies  —  they're  just  as  badly  off  as  ever. 
HANK.     Why,  I'm  dreadful  sorry,  ma'am,  but  you  see  I  really 

didn't  know  how  'twas.     I'll  bring  them  cubs  back  myself 

first  thing  to-morrow  mornin'. 

URSA  (looking  at  him).     I  suppose  I  can  trust  you 

SABRINA.     Yes,  marm,  you  kin. 

URSA.     Very  well,  I'll  wait  by  the  cave  until  they  come. 

ARBUTUS.     I  can  liberate  them  now,  Ursa,  if  Hank  will  give 

me  the  key. 

HANK  (giving  her  key).     Here  —  take  the  pesky  thing! 
ARBUTUS  (taking  key  and  touching  it  with  wand).     Oh,  key,  I 

command  you  to  fly  to  your  lock  and  open  it  at  once.     (She 

throws  the  key  out,  waving  wand  as  in  Act  7)     Cellar  door  at 

Cloverdale  Farm  —  Open !     Children  of  Ursa,  come  out  — 

follow  the  path  to  the  woods  —  turn  toward  your  cave  — 

through  the  pine  forest  —  to  the  Ring ! 

[Enter  three  Children,  dressed  in  cub  skins;   they  rush  over  to 

Ursa  and  embrace  her,  all  overjoyed.     Moss  Bud  and  Jane 

talk  together. 
HANK  (to  Sabrina).     Sabriny,  don't  you  think  you  might  give 

me  my  answer  now? 
SABRINA.     I  won't  give  it  to  yer  now,  Hank,  before  all  these 

people,  but  I  don't  mind  telling  you  it's  goin'  to  be  "yes"! 

[Hank  and  Sabrina  go  up  stage  and  fraternize  with  Animals. 


The  Forest  Ring  515 

ANTLERS.  A  cup  of  dew  to  seal  the  compact  of  our  friendship. 
[Peach  Bloom  and  Mouse  Ear  bring  a  pitcher,  made  of  a  large 
leaf,  and  flowers  for  glasses.  Hank  and  Antlers  pledge  each 
other. 

JANE  (who  has  been  talking  to  Moss  Bud).  Oh,  Moss  Bud,  do 
you  really  mean  that  I  can  never  see  you  again?  I  wanted 
so  much  to  be  friends  with  you 

MOSS  BUD.  Yes,  Jane,  a  human  being  is  only  allowed  to  see 
fairies  during  one  day.  It's  the  old  fairy  law,  and  it's 
perfectly  hateful.  I  wish  I  was  a  human  child,  so  that 
I  could  have  all  the  good  times  you've  been  telling  me 
about. 

JANE.  I  wish  you  were,  Moss  Bud,  —  we'd  have  been  such 
chums. 

ARBUTUS  (crossing  to  Jane  and  Moss  Bud).  What's  the  matter, 
children?  You  look  very  sad. 

MOSS  BUD.  Oh,  Mamma,  couldn't  you  turn  me  into  a  human 
child,  or  Jane  into  a  fairy,  so  we  wouldn't  have  to  say  good- 
bye? 

ARBUTUS.  No,  my  child,  I'm  afraid  not.  When  a  human 
being  has  once  entered  the  Ring,  he  can  always  come  to  it 
again,  if  he  does  so  in  sympathy,  and  talk  to  the  fairies, 
and  if  he  listens  very  hard  he  will  find  that  the  fairies  always 
answer  him. 

MOSS  BUD.     You'll  come  —  won't  you,  Jane? 

JANE.     Indeed  I  will  —  often. 

MOSS  BUD.     I  must  leave  you  in  a  moment  now;    kiss  me 
good-bye,  Jane. 
[Jane  does  so.     A  burst  of  merriment  from  the  others  drinking. 

ARBUTUS.  The  moon  is  going  under  a  cloud;  the  twenty-four 
hours  are  up.  Good-bye,  Jane! 

JANE.  Good-bye,  your  Majesty!  —  good-bye  all!  (The  stage 
becomes  dark  as  in  Act  I.  General  chorus  of  good-byes.  When 
lights  are  up,  Jane,  Thomas,  Hank  and  Sabrina  are  alone) 
Good-bye,  Moss  Bud ! 

MOSS  BUD  (faintly  outside) .     Good-bye ! 

JANE  (softly  to  Sabrina).    Didn't  you  hear  it,  Aunt  Sabrina? 


516  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

SABRINA  (softly).     I  guess  'twas  only  the  echo,  child!    Come, 
we  must  be  goin*  hum. 

[Hank  and  Sabrina  exeunt,  talking,  followed  by  Jane  and 
Thomas.  A  whippoorwill  is  heard.  Stage  same  as  in  Act 
7.  The  Ring  fades  away.  Fairy  music. 

CURTAIN 


ABOUT  THE  SEVEN  OLD  LADIES  OF 
LAVENDER  TOWN 

Henry  Cuyler  Bunner  (1855-96)  was  an  American  author, 
who  wrote  short  stories  and  light  verse.  He  was  on  the  staff 
of  the  humourous  weekly,  Puck.  The  present  operetta  by  him 
is  one  of  three,  the  other  two  being  "Bobby  Shaftoe"  and 
"Three  Little  Kittens."  The  music  for  it  may  be  found 
in  a  holiday  edition  of  the  "book  of  the  opera",  published  by 
Harper  &  Brothers. 

My  memory  carries  me  back  to  a  day  when  I  took  part  in 
an  operetta  —  "Goodluck  and  Badluck" — the  story  of  a 
beggar  Prince  who  jumped  over  the  palace  wall  and  stole  a  kiss 
from  a  beautiful  Princess.  Whereupon  immediately  she  fell  ill, 
because  the  Prince  did  not  stay  and  play  with  her  and  she  could 
no  longer  smile.  Nothing  in  the  Kingdom  was  able  to  cheer 
her,  and  so  the  sage  old  Counsellors  of  the  Court  advised  that 
Prince  Badluck  be  captured  and  sentenced  to  return  to  the 
Princess  the  kiss  he  had  stolen  from  her.  All  of  which  was 
done,  much  to  the  fair  fortune  of  Badluck,  the  happiness  of 
Goodluck,  and  the  future  prosperity  of  both  together.  Never 
were  there  jollier  days  than  at  the  rehearsals  of  "Goodluck  and 
Badluck"  —  grand  marches,  lusty  choruses,  repeated  reaches 
for  clear,  high  notes,  anoTmuch  parading  in  costumes. 

And  because  my  memory  clings  to  those  days,  before  the 
boys  I  knew  had  changed  their  voices,  and  before  the  girls  I 
knew  had  tucked  up  their  hair  and  untucked  their  skirts,  I 
have  selected  "The  Seven  Old  Ladies  of  Lavender  Town"  for 
similar  joyful  rehearsals.  It  is  true  that  the  Waxworks  are 
called  upon  in  the  end  to  embrace  their  wives,  and  they  all 
become  young  again!  But,  because  I  cannot  become  young 
again,  I  do  not  believe  there  was  ever  such  a  scene  as  that  in 
which  Badluck  returned  the  kiss  to  Goodluck.  For,  you  see, 
I  was  the  Badluck! 


THE   SEVEN  OLD   LADIES   OF  LAVENDER 

TOWN 

AN  OPERETTA  IN  TWO  ACTS 


BY  HENRY  C.  BUNNER 

[Music  by  Oscar   Weil  contained  in  the  edition  published  by 
Harper  &  Brothers] 


Characters 


The  Great  Mechanical 

and  Conversational 

Agglomeration  of 

Waxworks 


LIGHTNING  HASKINS,  the  Showman 
GEORGE  WASHINGTON  .... 

JULIUS  CESAR 

ALEXANDER  THE  GREAT     .     .     . 

JOHN  SMITH 

CHARLES  C.  CONFUCIUS     . 
HENRY  THE  EIGHTH     .... 
NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE      .     .     . 
THE  FAIRY  AUNTY  MACASSA 
THE  DUCHESS  OF  TIDYTOWN 

MRS.  SMITH 

MRS.  BROWN 

MRS.  JONES 

MRS.  ROBINSON 

MRS.  SIMPKINS 

MRS.  TIMPKINS 

MRS.  TRALALA  DE  MONTMORENCI 
A  PAGE 

The  Scene  is  laid  in  Kategreenawayland. 
The  Time  is  Once  Upon  a  Time. 


The  Seven  Little  Old 

Ladies  of 
Lavender  Town 


COPYRIGHT,   1886,  1897,  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

Reprinted  from  "The  Seven  Old  Ladies  of  Lavender  Town",  by  special  permission  of  the 
publishers,  Harper  &  Brothers,  New  York. 


THE  SEVEN  OLD  LADIES  OF  LAVENDER  TOWN 

ACT  I 

The  first  act  takes  place  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  stage  represents 
the  interior  of  a  booth  in  Tidytown  Fair.  It  is  a  plain  room,  with 
a  bench  near  the  door  on  each  side,  and  at  the  back  a  low  platform, 
over  which  a  curtain  hangs.  On  the  curtain  are  letters: 


PROFESSOR  LIGHTNING  HASKINS'S 

Great  Mechanical  and  Conversational  Agglomeration  of 
WAXWORKS 


When  the  play  begins  this  curtain  hides  the  platform.     Professor 
Lightning  Haskins  is  standing  at  the  door  to  the  right. 

'CHORUS  OF  FAIR-GOERS    (outside). 

We  are  the  folks  of  Tidytown, 

And  clever  folk  are  we; 
Unto  the  fair  we  gayly  go, 

The  wondrous  things  to  see. 

And  if  our  eyes  were  microscopes, 

We'd  look  within  each  tent, 
And  we'd  admire  this  merry  show 

And  never  pay  a  cent. 

No,  never  pay  a  cent! 

HASKINS  (speaks).  What!  never  pay  a  cent!  (Gloomily) 
That's  the  truth.  The  people  hereabouts  won't  pay  for  any- 
thing. They  get  all  the  sights  free  if  they  can;  if  they  can't, 


A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

they  just  stand  around  the  door  and  look  at  the  signs.  I've 
been  travelling  with  these  waxworks  of  mine  for  seven  years 
to-day,  and  I  never  found  such  a  mean  fair  as  this  one.  People 
hereabouts  don't  seem  to  appreciate  true  art.  (He  looks  out 
the  door)  There  they  go,  flocking  into  the  show  of  that  fellow 
with  the  common  old-fashioned  waxworks.  Now  my  wax- 
works are  an  extra  fine,  fairy-made  article,  and  they  move 
their  arms  and  legs  and  make  speeches,  and  nobody  comes 
to  see  them.  Oh,  it's  discouraging  to  an  artist!  There! 
There  goes  a  grand  lady  with  a  long  train.  I'll  wager  she 
goes  over  the  way.  No.  Good  gracious!  She's  coming 
straight  here.  (Enter,  very  grand  and  stately,  and  muffled  in 
a  great  cloak,  the  Duchess  of  Tidytown.  Haskins  bows  very 
low)  Good  afternoon,  madam. 

DUCHESS  (sternly).     Your  Grace! 

HASKINS.    My  —  what?    I  beg  your  pardon,  madam. 

DUCHESS.    Your  Grace! 

HASKINS   (flattered).    Oh  no,  madam.    That's  not  my  title. 
Just  Professor  Lightning  Haskins  —  simply  Professor 

DUCHESS  (severely).     Will  you  call  me  your  Grace? 

HASKINS  (meekly).    Oh  yes,  certainly,  madam  —  your  Grace,  I 
mean. 

DUCHESS.    Do  you  know  who  I  am? 

HASKINS.    No,  your  Grace. 

DUCHESS.     I  am  the  Duchess  of  Tidytown. 

HASKINS.     Delighted  to  meet  your  Grace.     Allow  me  to  intro- 
duce myself  —  Professor  Lightning 

DUCHESS    (paying  no  attention  to  him).     I  have  come  here  to 
satisfy  myself  as  to  the  character  of  your  exhibition. 

HASKINS  (going  towards  the  curtain).    Certainly,  your  Grace. 
Let  me  show  you  the  Grand  Agglomeration 

DUCHESS.     No.     I  don't  want  to  see  it;  I  only  wish  to  hear 
about  it. 

HASKINS.     Same  price,  your  Grace.    This  show  is  so  expensive 
that  I  can't  afford  to  talk  about  it  for  nothing. 

DUCHESS.     Here  is  a  guinea  —  a  golden  guinea.     Give  me  as 
little  conversation  as  you  can  for  the  money. 


The  Seven  Old  Ladies  of  Lavender  Town    523 

HASKINS.    As  little? 

DUCHESS.  Just  as  little  as  you  can,  or  a  trifle  less.  You  have 
only  to  answer  my  questions.  I  wish  to  know  if  your  ex- 
hibition is  a  proper  one  for  proper  young  ladies. 

HASKINS.  My  show  is  the  properest  show  in  all  the  fair,  your 
Grace.  The  character  of  my  waxworks  is  unexcelled,  and 
they  utter  only  the  noblest  sentiments,  out  of  the  copy- 
books. 

DUCHESS.  If  I  am  satisfied  with  your  performance,  I  will  send 
my  daughters  here  this  evening.  But  there  must  be  nothing 
in  the  entertainment  to  offend  the  daughters  of  a  Duchess. 

HASKINS.  Madam,  your  Grace,  I  mean  —  my  waxworks  would 
not  offend  anybody.  Just  look  at  them.  (He  draws  the  cur- 
tain aside)  Here  they  are  —  George  Washington,  Julius 
Caesar,  Alexander  the  Great,  John  Smith  —  all  excellent  men. 

DUCHESS.  Very  respectable,  I  believe.  They  have  been  dead 
some  time,  have  they  not? 

HASKINS.  I  guarantee  them  to  be  all  dead.  Here  is  Confucius, 
the  Chinese  philosopher,  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  and  Henry 
the  Eighth. 

DUCHESS.  Henry  the  Eighth!  But  he  was  a  man  who  had 
six  wives! 

HASKINS.     Oh,  but  he  hasn't  now.     He  is  quite  reformed  since 
he  joined  my  show.     He  is  now  a  confirmed  old  bachelor. 
[He  doses  the  curtain. 

DUCHESS.  And  you  are  sure  that  your  exhibition  is  fit  for  a 
Duchess's  daughters? 

HASKINS.  Your  Grace,  it's  fit  for  two  Duchesses'  daughters. 
(Confidentially)  I  don't  mind  telling  you,  your  Grace,  that 
I  got  the  whole  outfit  from  a  fairy,  who  sold  them  out  cheap. 
They  are  all  very  respectable  people,  whom  she  changed  into 
waxworks  because  they  offended  her.  They  are  not  at  all 
*  common  waxworks,  and  they  are  to  be  seen  every  afternoon 
and  evening  for  the  low  price  of  one  shilling  —  three  shillings 
to  Duchesses'  daughters. 

DUCHESS.  Very  well.  I  shall  expect  you  to  give  a  private  per- 
formance, for  the  entertainment  of  my  daughters,  at  precisely 


524  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

seven  o'clock  this  evening.     The  vulgar  public  must  be  ex- 
cluded. 

RASKINS.  From  what  I  have  seen  of  this  town,  your  Grace, 
that  will  be  easy.  Going  already?  Just  look  once  more  at 
the  waxworks.  (Drawing  the  curtain  aside)  They  are  as 
natural  as  life. 

DUCHESS.     No,  I  cannot.     If  I  should  look  at  them  any  longer, 
I  should  want  to  pinch  them,  and  that  would  be  beneath  the 
dignity  of  a  Duchess. 
[She  goes  out  proudly. 

HASKINS.  Well,  this  is  something  like  business  at  last.  Three 
shillings  apiece!  I  hope  she's  got  a  large  family.  Aha!  I 
feel  like  the  great  original  Haskins  once  more. 

SONG 

1.  I  dust  my  waxworks  off  at  night, 

And  in  the  early  dawning,  O, 
I  hang  my  sign-board  up  in  sight, 
And  lower  down  my  awning,  O. 

For  Tm  Lightning  Haskins,  O,  for  Tm  Lightning  Haskins,  O. 
I  do  not  know  a  better  show  than  that  of  Lightning  Haskins,  O.* 

2.  I  putty  up  the  horrid  holes 

Where  people  pinch  their  calveses,  O; 
I  sell  admission  cards  in  shoals, 
The  wholeses  and  the  halveses,  O. 

For  Tm  Lightning  Haskins,  O,  for  Tm  Lightning  Haskins,  O. 
I  do  not  know  a  better  show  than  that  of  Lightning  Haskins,  O.* 

3.  I  rise  and  speak  a  little  speech 

When  people  come  to  see  them,  O; 
But  though  their  bloom  is  like  the  peach, 
I  wouldn't  like  to  be  them,  O. 

For  Tm  Lightning  Haskins,  O,  for  Tm  Lightning  Haskins,  O. 
I  do  not  ax  to  turn  to  wax,  for  I  am  Lightning  Haskins,  O.* 

*  A  quiet  dance  step  of  four  or  eight  measures. 


The  Seven  Old  Ladies  of  Lavender  Town     525 

Yes,  I  am  Lightning  Haskins,  but  it  does  not  look  as  though 

people  generally  knew  it.     (Looking  out)     Ah!  my  luck  has 

changed.     Here  comes  an  audience  —  all  in  a  row. 

[Enter  Mrs.  Smithy  Mrs.  Brown,  Mrs.  Jones,  Mrs.  Robinson, 

Mrs.  Simpkins,  Mrs.  Timpkins,  and  Mrs.  Tralala  de  Mont- 

morenci. 

HASKINS.  Very  glad  to  see  you,  ladies.  Lightning  Haskins  — 
Professor  Lightning  Haskins,  at  your  service. 

MRS.  SMITH.  You  are  very  polite,  sir.  Allow  us  to  introduce 
ourselves. 

CHORUS 
THE  SEVEN  OLD  LADIES. 

1.  We  are  old  ladies  of  extra  gentility; 

All  thro*  the  world  we  are  wandering  free, 
And  we  blend  our  decorum  with  lightsome  agility; 

We're  anxious  to  see  what  it  is  we  can  see. 

We're  so  polite  and  we  dress  so  prettily, 

We  discourse  unto  all  so  very  wittily, 
That  we  never  receive  the  least  mite  of  a  frown. 
We're  the  seven  old  ladies  of  Lavender  Town, 

Old  ladies  of  Lavender  Town. 

2.  When  we  were  young  we  were  noted  for  naughtiness, 

Wilful  and  petulant  persons  were  we; 
But  we  all  have  been  properly  punished  for  haughtiness, 

We're  husbandless  now,  and  we're  homeless,  you  see. 

We're  so  polite  and  we  dress  so  prettily, 

We  discourse  unto  all  so  very  wittily, 
That  we  never  receive  the  least  mite  of  a  frown. 
We're  the  seven  old  ladies  of  Lavender  Town, 

Old  ladies  of  Lavender  Town. 

MRS.  SMITH.  If  you'd  like  to  hear  anything  more  about  us,  sir, 
we  shall  be  happy  to  tell  you  anything  you  wish  to  know. 
Our  history  is  very  interesting. 

HASKINS  (pompously).  Not  at  all  —  not  at  all.  It's  not  neces- 
sary. I  have  no  doubt  that  you  are  properly  respectable 


526  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

persons  whom  I  may  with  propriety  admit  to  my  show. 
The  exhibition  will  now  begin.  (He  draws  aside  the  curtain) 
Behold,  ladies,  the —  Hold  on  a  moment  (letting  curtain 
close).  One  shilling  apiece,  if  you  please. 

MRS.  JONES.     Mrs.  Brown  has  all  the  shillings,  I  believe. 

MRS.  BROWN.  Excuse  me;  I  gave  them  to  Mrs.  Tralala  de 
Montmorenci. 

MRS.  TRALALA  DE  MONTMORENCI.  Mrs.  Smith  took  them  away 
from  me  when  we  came  to  the  shop  where  they  sold  dolls. 
I'm  so  giddy,  you  know. 

MRS.  SMITH  (producing  money).  Here  they  are.  But  I  have 
only  six  shillings.  Would  you  mind  taking  two  sixpences 
for  Mrs.  Tralala  de  Montmorenci,  sir? 

HASKINS  (taking  money).  Not  at  all.  (He  draws  curtain  aside) 
You  now  behold,  ladies,  the  Great  Mechanical  and  Conver- 
sational Agglomeration  of  Waxworks.  These,  ladies  and 
gentlemen  —  ladies  —  I  beg  your  pardon  —  are  the  only 
waxworks  in  the  world  that  really  work.  You  will  now  hear 
them  recite  their  pieces  and  move  their  arms  and  legs,  all 
for  one  shilling  apiece. 

MRS.   TRALALA  DE  MONTMORENCI.      And  tWO   Sixpences.      Oh,   I 

forgot !     I  oughtn't  to  talk. 

[The  curtain  being  drawn  aside,  displays  the  Waxworks  seated 
in  chairs.  As  Haskins  calls  upon  each  one,  he  rises,  speaks 
his  piece  with  appropriate  gestures,  and  sits  down.  Haskins 
walks  along  the  platform,  pointing  out  the  characters. 
HASKINS.  Here,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  you  see  the  great 
Julius  Caesar.  This  famous  Roman  general  and  world-famed 
ruler  lived  several  centuries  ago,  and  is  now  dead.  His  most 
notable  action  during  his  life  was  the  burning  of  his  ships  — 
an  act  of  wasteful  extravagance,  for  which  he  was  severely 
censured  by  the  Roman  Senate.  He  also  crossed  the  Ru- 
bicon, an  unparalleled  feat  in  those  days.  Julius  Csesa'r  will 
now  move  his  arms  and  legs,  and  speak  his  piece.  Abra- 
cadabra ! 

JULIUS  CAESAR.     All  Gaul  is  divided  into  three  parts 

THE  SEVEN  OLD  LADIES  (together).     Oh,  he  needn't  go  on. 


The  Seven  Old  Ladies  of  Lavender  Town    527 

HA  SKINS.  Philopena,  Julius!  (Julius  C&sar  is  instantly  mo- 
tionless} We  will  proceed  to  the  next.  This,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  is  George  Washington,  the  Father  of  his  Country, 
first  in  peace,  first  in  war,  and  first  in  the  hearts  of  his  country- 
men. (The  Waxworks  execute  the  appropriate  salute)  Now, 
George,  Abracadabra!  You  see,  I  have  only  to  say  Abra- 
cadabra to  start  them,  and  Philopena  to  stop  them.  Abra- 
cadabra, George! 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON.  When  I  arrived  at  the  age  of  seven 
years  my  father  presented  me  with  a  bright  new  hatchet, 
and  I  at  once  amused  myself  with  cutting  down  a  valuable 
cherry-tree  to  which  the  old  man  was  greatly  attached. 
When  my  father  arrived  and  beheld  the  ruin  I  had  wrought 
he  inquired,  in  tones  of  deep  feeling,  "  Who  has  cut  down  my 
cherry-tree?  "  I  immediately  replied,  " Father,  I  cannot " 

THE  SEVEN  OLD  LADIES  (together).  Oh,  please  make  him  stop! 
He  looks  so  much  better  with  his  mouth  shut! 

HASKINS.  Philopena,  George!  The  next  one,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  is  Alexander  the  Great.  Owing  to  his  unfamili- 
arity  with  the  English  language,  Alexander  is  unable  to  ex- 
press himself  as  he  would  wish  to.  He  will  therefore  appear 
only  in  his  celebrated  act  of  weeping  for  more  worlds  to 
conquer.  Abracadabra,  Alexander !  (Alexander  weeps)  Phi- 
lopena! We  now  pass  on,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  to  the 
world-renowned  John  Smith,  founder  of  the  immortal  Smith 
family.  Here  you  gaze  upon  the  only  and  original  John 
Smith.  All  other  John  Smiths  exhibited  in  any  other  con- 
cern are  base  and  spurious  imitations. 

MRS.  SMITH  (repressing  a  sob).  Pardon  me,  sir,  but  please  do 
not  make  him  talk.  You  cannot  understand,  but  it  awakens 
painful  memories  to  me. 

MRS.  JONES.     We  prefer  our  waxworks  silent. 

HASKINS.  Certainly,  ladies.  Here  we  have  the  great  Confu- 
cius—  Charles  C.  Confucius,  of  China,  the  gentleman  who 
invented  the  Chinese  alphabet,  which  contains  seventy-one 
thousand  four  hundred  and  sixty-nine  letters  and  three  postal 
cards.  This  is  Henry  the  Eighth  of  England.  He  was  a 


528  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

King  when  he  was  alive,  and  he  is  dusted  off  twice  as  often  as 
any  other  waxwork  in  the  show.  And  here,  ladies  and  gentle- 
men, the  exhibition  closes  with  the  great  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte, the  original  inventor  of  white  duck  trousers.  Now, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  you  have  seen  the  wonders  that  it  is 
my  privilege  to  exhibit  to  you,  and  you  may  go  home  and 
marvel  at  the  gigantic  progress  of  science  and  art  without 
extra  charge. 

[During  the  lecture  the  Seven  Old  Ladies  have  followed  Haskins, 
expressing  surprise  and  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  each  Waxwork. 
At  the  close  of  the  discourse  they  appear  much  affected.  At 
close  of  lecture  Haskins  draws  the  curtain. 

CHORUS 
THE  SEVEN  OLD  LADIES. 

1.  We  are  very  much  pleased  with  the  beautiful  show; 
You've  told  us  some  things  we're  delighted  to  know. 
In  your  whole  exhibition  there's  nothing  that  lacks; 
We're  pleased  with  your  ways,  and  we're  pleased  with  your 

wax. 

But  if  you  don't  mind  we  will  drop  just  here 
A  sorrowful  tear,  a  simple  tear. 
The  cause  of  that  tear  you  may  not  know; 
'Tis  no  offence  to  your  splendid  show  — 
Oh,  oh,  the  beautiful  show! 

2.  They  remind  us  too  much  of  the  long  ago, 
These  beautiful  folks  in  your  beautiful  show; 
They  recall  the  sad  time  when  in  anger  and  pride 
The  laws  of  politeness  we  boldly  defied. 

We  were  rude  to  our  husbands  one  terrible  day, 
And  the  Fairy  Macassa,  she  took  them  away; 
And  so  that  is  the  reason,  as  you  may  know, 
That  we  weep  at  the  sight  of  your  lovely  show  — 
Oh,  oh,  the  beautiful  show ! 

MRS.   SMITH   (brokenly).    Thank  you,  sir.     It  —  is  —  very  — 
interesting. 


The  Seven  Old  Ladies  of  Lavender  Town    529 

MRS.  JONES  (almost  weeping).  We  have  been  very  much  inter- 
ested. 

MRS.  BROWN  (mournfully).     I  feel  as  if  I  were  going  to  cry. 

MRS.  TRALALA  DE  MONTMORENCi  (weeping).  I  don't  believe  I 
could  giggle  if  I  tried. 

HASKINS.     You  seem  to  take  waxworks  pretty  hard. 

MRS.  SMITH.  You  cannot  understand,  sir.  By  your  leave,  I 
will  tell  you  our  sad  story.  Although  we  seem  so  old,  we 
are  young  and  beautiful.  Seven  years  ago  we  were  seven 
lovely  brides,  and  we  lived  in  Lavender  Town,  near  Rose- 
mary Lane.  Alas,  we  quarrelled  with  our  good  husbands, 
and  they  quarrelled  with  us,  although  we  were  most  desirable 
wives.  To  punish  us  for  our  bad  tempers,  the  Fairy  Aunty 
Macassa  —  we  had  no  fairy  godmother,  but  only  a  fairy 
aunty  —  turned  us  into  seven  old  ladies,  and  condemned 
us  to  roam  the  world  in  search  of  our  husbands,  whom 
she  turned  into  something  else  —  we  really  don't  know 
what. 

HASKINS  (aside).  Good  gracious!  the  Fairy  Aunty  Macassa! 
Why,  that's  my  fairy!  And  these  must  be  the  wives  of  my 
waxworks.  What  will  become  of  my  business  if  they  find 
it  out? 

MRS.  JONES.  And  all  these  years  we  have  been  wandering 
about,  hoping  to  find  our  husbands  somewhere.  And  we 
have  been  very  much  affected  by  a  peculiar  coincidence. 
Your  beautiful  waxworks  have  the  same  first  names  as  our 
husbands,  who  were  called 

MRS.  SMITH  (sobbing).     John! 

MRS.  JONES  (sobbing).     George! 

MRS.  BROWN  (sobbing).     Julius! 

MRS.  TRALALA  DE  MONTMORENCI  (sobbing).     Alexander! 

THE  SEVEN  OLD  LADIES  (together,  sobbing).  And  Henry,  and 
Charles,  and  Napoleon! 

HASKINS  (aside).  I  must  get  them  out  of  here  at  once,  or  they 
will  take  their  husbands  away  with  them.  (Aloud)  Ladies, 
you  must  excuse  me,  but  this  show  closes  promptly  at  five, 
and  it's  two  seconds  past  five  now. 


530  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

MRS.  SMITH.  Oh,  dear  me,  sir,  we're  sorry.  We  won't  detain 
you.  But  perhaps  you  will  allow  us 

HASKINS.  I'll  allow  you  anything  —  only  this  show  closes 
promptly 

MRS.  SMITH.  If  you'll  only  allow  us  to  sing  one  little  song  be- 
fore we  go! 

HASKINS  (desperately).  Well,  sing  it,  and  go.  Never  mind  the 
key. 

MRS.  SMITH.  *  It  is  a  song  which  the  fairy  told  us  to  sing,  and 
if  our  husbands  hear  it  they  will  recognize  us. 

HASKINS  (aside).     Oh!  oh!  oh!     I'm  done  for! 

CHORUS 

THE  OLD  LADIES. 

1.  Lavender  Village  is  far,  far  away, 
Over  the  hills  for  a  year  and  a  day. 
Can  you  remember  the  happier  hours 
Spent  in  the  rosemary,  rosemary  bowers? 
Out  in  the  garden  the  tea-table  set, 
Out  in  the  garden  the  tea-table  set,  — 

Lavender  Village,  Lavender  Village, 
Lavender  Village,  oh,  can  we  forget? 

THE  WAXWORKS. 

2.  Lavender  Village  is  far,  far  away* 

When  we  were  there,  oh,  why  did  we  not  stay? 
We  can  remember,  remember  aright, 
When  we  were  there  we  were  not  so  polite. 
We  can  remember  you  got  in  a  pet, 
We  can  remember  you  got  in  a  pet. 

Lavender  Village,  Lavender  Village, 
Lavender  Village,*  oh,  can  we  forget? 

HASKINS  (drawing  curtain  aside).     What  is  this? 

[Tableau.     The  Seven  Old  Ladies  and  the  Waxworks  recognize 

each  other.    Haskins  is  desperate. 
THE  SEVEN  OLD  LADIES.     Give  us  our  husbands! 

*  At  the  close  of  the  act  the  curtain  begins  to  descend  at  this  point 


The  Seven  Old  Ladies  of  Lavender  Town    531 

HASKINS.  Never!  They're  mine.  I  bought  them  from  the 
fairy.  This  show  closes  promptly  at  five.  I  don't  want  to 
be  impolite,  but  —  get  out ! 

MRS.  SMITH.     We'll  have  them  yet. 

[Haskins  tears  his  hair,  and  urges  The  Seven  Old  Ladies  out. 
They  depart,  stretching  out  their  arms  to  the  Waxworks,  who 
stretch  out  their  arms,  but  cannot  leave  their  places.  All  sing 
"Lavender  Village."  Haskins  tears  his  hair  again. 

CURTAIN 


ACT  II 

The  scene  is  the  same,  at  night.  The  curtain  of  the  platform  is 
drawn  away,  and  the  Waxworks  are  seen  covered  up  with  sheets  or 
furniture  covers.  And  while  they  are  covered  up  they  sing. 

CHORUS 
WAXWORKS. 

For  life  in  a  waxwork  show, 

For  home  in  a  country  fair, 
Where  you're  always,  always  on  the  go, 

We  do  not,  do  not  precisely  care : 
For  life  in  a  waxwork  show, 

For  home  in  a  country  fair, 
Where  you're  always,  always  on  the  go, 

We  do  not  precisely  care. 

For  our  hair  is  dropping  out, 

We're  a  half -inch  thick  with  dust, 
And  folks  who  are  full  of  lingering  doubt, 

They  pinch  thro'  the  tender  crust. 
For  life  in  a  waxwork  show, 

For  home  in  a  country  fair, 
Where  you're  always,  always  on  the  go, 

We  do  not,  do  not  precisely  care; 


532          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

For  life  in  a  waxwork  show, 

For  home  in  a  country  fair, 
Where  you're  always,  always  on  the  go, 

We  do  not  precisely  care. 

[Haskins  enters,  and  proceeds  to  take  off  their  covers  and  dust 
them  off  with  a  feather  duster. 

HASKINS.  Here's  a  nice  piece  of  business!  If  I  hadn't  that 
engagement  to  entertain  the  Duchess's  daughters  to-night, 
I'd  pack  up  and  get  out  of  the  town  before  those  women 
could  come  back.  I've  said  Abracadabra  to  these  miserable 
waxworks  until  I  can't  say  it  any  more;  and  the  spell  doesn't 
seem  to  work  as  it  used  to.  The  fairy  didn't  tell  me  that 
these  waxworks  had  wives,  or  I  wouldn't  have  bought  them. 
Well,  it's  time  for  the  Duchess's  daughters.  And  here  they 
are,  right  on  time. 
[Enter  the  Duchess's  Daughters,  cloaked  and  hooded. 

CHORUS 
THE  DUCHESS'S  DAUGHTERS. 

1.  Oh,  we  are  the  Duchess's,  the  Duchess's  girls, 

And  proper  young  people  are  we; 
Our  hair  is  in  tight  little,  tight  little  curls, 

And  we  always  take  five  o'clock  tea. 
IST  SOLO.     We  like  very  much  to  see  shows, 
2ND  SOLO.        If  they  are  instructive  to  youth, 
3RD  SOLO.     And  yours  is  the  kind,  we  are  led  to  suppose, 

Where  the  showman  strictly  tells  the  truth. 

Chorus 

And  yours  is  the  kind,  we  are  led  to  suppose, 
Where  the  showman  strictly  tells  the  truth. 

2.  Museums  are  horribly,  oh,  horribly  low, 

And  so  are  menageries  too; 
But  you  have  an  excellent,  excellent  show, 

And  a  man  of  refinement  are  you. 
IST  SOLO.     So  show  us  no  horrible  shapes, 


The  Seven  Old  Ladies  of  Lavender  Town    533 

2ND  SOLO.        No  monkeys  in  cocoanut  trees, 
SRD  SOLO.    No  lions  or  tigers,  hyenas  or  apes, 
And  no  hippo-po-potamus,  please 

Chorus 

No  lions  or  tigers,  hyenas  or  apes, 
And  no  hippo-po-potamus,  please. 

HASKINS  (obsequiously).  Always,  young  ladies;  I  always  tell 
the  truth,  and  (confidentially)  a  great  deal  more.  Please  be 
seated.  The  show  —  the  exhibition  —  is  about  to  begin. 
(They  seat  themselves  on  the  benches,  and  he  begins  his  lecture) 
Here,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  you  see  the  great  Julius  Caesar. 
He  is  now  dead.  This  was  an  unparalleled  feat  in  those  days. 
Julius  Caesar  will  now  speak  his  piece.  Abracadabra,  Julius. 

JULIUS  C^SAR.  When  I  arrived  at  the  age  of  seven  years  my 
father  presented  me  with  a  bright  new  hatchet,  and  I  at 
once 

HASKINS.  Hold  on!  That  isn't  your  piece.  "All  Gaul  is  di- 
vided into  three  parts " 

JULIUS  CAESAR.     It  ain't. 

HASKINS.     What's  that? 

JULIUS  C^SAR.     It  ain't. 

HASKINS.     Never  mind  if  it  isn't.     You  say  so. 

JULIUS  CLESAR.      I  Won't. 

HASKINS.     What  does  this  mean? 

JULIUS  CAESAR.     We've  struck. 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON.    We  have  formed  the  Waxworks  Union. 

ALEXANDER.     And  we  won't  waxwork. 

JULIUS  C.ESAR.     Unless  we  can  have  our  wives  again. 

[The  ladies  applaud. 
THE  DUCHESS  (entering,  followed  by  a  Page  with  a  bandbox). 

What  is  this  I  hear?     Unseemly  language  from  waxworks? 

Is  this  the  exhibition  to  which  I  have  sent  my  daughters? 
HASKINS  (desperately).     I  beseech  your  Grace's  pardon.     My 

waxworks  have  struck,  and  I  can't  do  anything  with  them. 

(To  the  Waxworks)     Philopena,  the  whole  lot  of  you. 


534          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

THE  WAXWORKS.     Philopena  yourself. 

DUCHESS.     Let  us  submit  this  matter  to  arbitration.     What  do 

these  gentlemen  want? 
THE  WAXWORKS.     We  want  our  wives. 
DUCHESS.     Quite  right  and  proper.     Give  them  their  wives. 
HASKINS.    I  haven't  got  their  wives.    I  can't  give  them  any 

wives. 
DUCHESS.    Then  I  will. 

HASKINS.       YOU  will? 

DUCHESS.     Yes.     Here  they  are. 

[The  Duchess9 s  Daughters  rise  and  throw  off  their  wraps,  ap- 
pearing as  The  Seven  Old  Ladies,  only  made  young  again. 
They  form  a  line  and  sing. 

ChorUS.  —  THE  SEVEN  OLD  LADIES.* 

[And  they  all  courtesy. 
HASKINS.     But  —  look  here;  you  can't  do  that.     Nobody  can 

do  that  sort  of  thing  but  the  Fairy  Aunty  Macassa. 
DUCHESS.    And  I  am  the  Fairy  Aunty  Macassa. 

SONG 

1.  I  am  an  able  professional  fairy, 

Lightsome  and  sprightsome,  capricious  and  airy; 
High  in  all  fairyland  is  my  position, 
And  guarding  your  morals  my  excellent  mission; 
Tho'  stern  my  decrees  when  a  mortal  is  sinning, 
As  great  is  my  joy  when  forgiveness  he's  winning; 
And  here  is  a  case  where  I'm  bound  to  consider  — 
The  case  of  a  wife  who  must  live  like  a  widder, 
A  wife  who  must  live  like  a  widder. 

2.  I  am  an  able  professional  fairy, 
Mostly  of  sudden  repentance  I'm  wary; 

Still,  when  I  see  how  these  wanderers,  blighted, 
Who  earnestly  wish  to  be  fast  re-united, 

*  The  chorus  is  a  repetition  of  the  first  verse  of  the  song  in  the  first  act,  with  the  word  "young" 
substituted  for  "old." 


The  Seven  Old  Ladies  of  Lavender  Town    535 

Are  promising  never  to  quarrel  or  squabble, 
And  never  from  love's  narrow  pathway  to  wobble, 
Sweet  mercy  with  justice  I  surely  must  mingle, 
And  pity  the  husband  who  lives  as  if  single, 
The  husband  who  lives  as  if  single. 

Do  you  not  recognize  me? 

[She  throws  off  her  cloak,  and  appears  in  a  brilliant  costume. 

HASKINS.  I  don't  know  whether  I  do  or  not.  Where  are  your 
wings? 

DUCHESS  (beckoning  to  the  Page).  Here  in  this  bandbox.  You 
don't  want  to  make  me  go  to  the  trouble  of  putting  them  on, 
do  you? 

HASKINS.  Oh,  no,  your  Grace.  But  you  won't  mind  my 
looking  at  them,  will  you?  (He  takes  the  wings  out)  What '11 
you  take  for  them? 

DUCHESS.  They  are  not  for  sale.  I  use  them  in  my  business. 
(Raskins  puts  them  back)  I  have  come  here  to  announce 
that  as  the  seven  young  married  couples  of  Lavender  Town 
are  sincerely  penitent  for  their  past  naughtiness,  I  have  de- 
cided to  pardon  them,  and  release  them  from  their  spell.  By 
my  marvellous  power  I  have  changed  these  Seven  Old  Ladies 
back  to  Seven  Young  Brides,  and  by  my  marvellous  power 
I  will  now  free  these  seven  Waxworks. 

[She  takes  Haskins's  stick  and  waves  it.     The  Waxworks  de- 
scend from  the  platformt  and  each  one  embraces  his  wife. 

MRS.  SMITH.     John! 

JOHN  SMITH.     Jemima! 

MRS.  JONES.     George! 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON.    Gloriana! 

MRS.  BROWN.      Julius! 

JULIUS  CAESAR.     Josephine! 

MRS.  TRALALA  DE  MONTMORENCi.    Alexander! 

ALEXANDER  THE  GREAT.      Anne! 

MRS.  ROBINSON,  MRS.  SIMPKINS,  AND  MRS.  TIMPKINS.     Our  huS- 

bands ! 

NAPOLEON,  CONFUCIUS,  AND  HENRY  THE  EIGHTH.     Our  wives! 


536          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

CHORUS 

THE  SEVEN  OLD  LADIES  AND  THE  WAXWORKS. 
We  have  made  an  end  of  wax  and  woe, 

And  we're  ourselves  again, 
And  now  we  will  live  together  until  — 

We  don't  know  when. 

It's  very  much  more  pleasant  to  live  together  so, 

Than  trapesing  round  the  country  or  than  being  in  a  show, 

Than  trapesing  round  the  country  or  than  being  in  a  show. 

HASKINS.    And  I  —  what  will  become  of  me? 

DUCHESS.    Don't  worry.     I'll  make  you  a  waxwork  yourself, 

and  sell  you  to  somebody  else. 
JULIUS  CAESAR.     And  now,  dear  Fairy,  pray  excuse  us  if  we 

seem  to  ask  too  much,  but 

MRS.  SMITH.     Our  husbands  are  still  waxworks. 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON.     If  you  could  conveniently  change  us 

back. 
DUCHESS.     Oh,  certainly.     I  will  change  you  back  to  your 

natural  shapes. 
HASKINS    (maliciously).    Perhaps   you'll   do   that  —  by   your 

"marvellous  power." 
DUCHESS.     I  will. 

HASKINS  (defiantly).     Well,  do  it,  then. 
DUCHESS.     I  will  —  as  soon  as  the  curtain  falls. 


FINALE 

OMNES. 

Lavender  Village  is  far,  far  away, 
Over  the  hills  for  a  year  and  a  day. 
Well  we  remember  the  bright,  happy  hours 
Blissfully  spent  in  its  rosemary  bowers ! 

WAXWORKS. 

Leaving  the  show  without  sigh  or  regret. 


The  Seven  Old  Ladies  of  Lavender  Town    537 

OLD  LADIES. 

Never  again  will  we  get  in  a  pet. 
OMNES. 

Lavender  Village,  Lavender  Village, 
Lavender  Village,  we  ne'er  will  forget. 

CURTAIN 


HALT! 

CHILDREN  TURN  BACK 

PARENTS  AND  TEACHERS  AND 

LIBRARIANS  READ  AHEAD 


AN  INTRODUCTION  WHICH  IS  AN  APPENDIX 

I  have  asked  my  publishers  to  print  my  Introduction  as  an 
Appendix.  When  children  open  a  book,  it  is  a  dampener  to 
the  spirit  for  them  to  be  met  with  preachment,  with  historical 
verification  and  cross-reference,  with  instruction.  Such  anti- 
quarian mood  has  kept  many  a  youthful  reader  away  from 
Walter  Scott's  novels.  I  think  that  all  long  explanations 
should  be  placed  where  they  can  do  least  harm  to  human  in- 
terest. 

This  compilation  is  not  a  text-book;  its  chief  aim  is,  as  Mr. 
E.  V.  Lucas  says  the  aim  of  all  juvenile  literature  should  be,  to 
give  children  a  good  time.  Limitations  of  copyright,  strictures 
of  space  have  prevented  the  inclusion  of  plays  so  well  known 
and  so  easily  procurable  that  their  presence  here  would  some- 
how mean  a  repetition,  —  like  Maurice  Maeterlinck's  "The 
Blue  Bird"  and  "The  Betrothal",  J.  M.  Barrie's  "Peter  Pan", 
Rabindranath  Tagore's  "The  Post  Office",  and  Josephine  Pres- 
ton Peabody's  "The  Piper."  These  are  dramas  not  distinct- 
ively juvenile,  but  which,  because  of  the  spiritualized  value  of 
youth  in  them,  appeal  alike  to  young  and  old. 

I  have  also  omitted  Shakespeare's  "A  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream",  though  I  had  the  gracious  permission  of  Ben  Greet, 
Esq.,  and  his  publishers,  to  include  his  commendable  arrange- 
ment of  the  play,  made  for  amateur  use.  I  left  it  out,  even 
though  it  had  the  value  of  his  stage  directions,  because  there 
are  some  texts  so  flexible  that  practical  versions  may  be  cut 
from  the  original  to  suit  every  need.  There  are  several  plots 
in  this  particular  play  of  enchantment,  and,  if  one  has  the 
belief  —  as  I  have  —  that  the  entanglement  of  the  loves  of 
Lysander  and  Hermia,  of  Demetrius  and  Helena  is  scarcely 
"play"  for  young  folks,  it  is  possible  to  join  into  a  delightful 
unity  such  scenes  as  deal  with  Oberon,  Titania,  Puck,  and 


542  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

those  "hempen  home-spuns",  presided  over  by  Bottom,  the 
Weaver.  But  there  is  no  doubt  in  my  mind  that  "A  Midsum- 
mer Night's  Dream"  is  such  stuff  as  good  plays  for  children 
are  made  of,  just  as  Mendelssohn's  Overture  for  this  Shakespeare 
fantasy  is  the  music  incarnate  for  fairy  feet. 

The  plays  in  this  volume  are  selected  because  of  their  varied 
story  element;  they  were  not  written  to  prove  anything  except 
that  the  more  one  is  brought  in  contact  with  imaginative  liter- 
ature, the  more  is  imagination  fed;  and  the  wider  the  life  ad- 
ventures of  fictitious  characters,  the  more  wide  does  our  own 
experience  become.  There  is  not  any  attempt  to  maintain  in 
the  choice  of  plays  a  balance  between  realism  and  fancy,  first 
because  the  preponderance  of  a  child's  thoughts  should  be  col- 
oured by  "high  conception",  and  second,  I  am  frank  to  admit, 
because  the  best  plays  for  children  are  bred  of  such  elements  as 
appeal  to  the  imaginative  side  of  youth.  I  regret  that  I  have 
found  no  dramas  of  a  "practical"  nature  to  include  in  this  col- 
lection, whose  chief  claim  is  that  those  dramas  selected  will 
stand  some  of  the  tests  of  good  literature  at  the  same  time  that 
they  are  thoroughly  actable  and  easily  adaptable  to  amateur 
stage  needs..  Mrs.  Burnett's  "The  Little  Princess",  in  its 
dramatized  form,  has  been  used  more  extensively  than  Mrs. 
Kate  Douglas  Wiggin's  "The  Birds'  Christmas  Carol",  and  the 
miniature  playlets  made  from  Miss  Alcott's  "Little  Women" 
and  "Little  Men."  While  there  are  innumerable  dramatiza- 
tions of  Dickens,  I  have  found  no  efforts  worthy  the  feeling  and 
tone  of  "The  Christmas  Carol."  In  other  words,  though  the 
"educational  woods"  may  be  full  of  "supplementary  reading" 
plays  to  fit  every  occasion  —  patriotic  and  practical  —  such 
dialogues  have  generally  been  shaped  by  undramatic  hands  — 
hence  wrongly  conceived  and  tamely  imagined. 

I  have  looked  in  vain  for  some  worthy  vehicle  to  satisfy  a 
child's  desire  to  be  Pocahontas,  or  some  drama  on  Hiawatha 
as  distinctive  as  Longfellow's  narrative  poem.  I  wanted  some 
play,  within  the  compass  of  juvenile  interest,  to  body  forth  the 
significant  incidents  in  the  life  of,  and  traits  in  the  character  of 
Abraham  Lincoln.  But  there  is  nothing  as  graphic  or  as  sim- 


An  Introduction  which  is  an  Appendix      543 

ply  direct  and  reticently  beautiful  as  John  Drinkwater's  "Lin- 
coln "  —  not  a  play  for  children,  yet  easily  within  their  range 
as  a  chronicle  of  events.  Though  the  library  shelves  are  full  of 
story  plays  from  history,  and  biographical  plays,  there  is  still  a 
poverty  of  real  dramatic  material  along  these  lines.  Is  there 
a  drama  for  children  on  Joan  of  Arc  which  is  worthy  a  place 
by^the  side  of  Boutet  de  Monvel's  pictures  or  Mark  Twain's 
biography  of  the  peasant  girl  of  France?  Where  is  there  to  be 
found  a  play  on  Robin  Hood,  as  full  of  greenwood  tang  as  the 
ancient  ballads  or  Howard  Pyle's  story?  Material  is  lying  loose 
and  "no  one  will  use  it  as  it  should  be  used.  My  mind  has 
dwelt  on  all  such  considerations  during  the  preparation  of  this 
volume,  and  my  various  inclinations  have  gone  unrequited. 

And  for  one  significant  reason: — whenever  an  art  becomes 
the  hand-maiden  of  education,  it  suffers  by  reason  of  the  fact 
that  it  is  cramped  into  shape  to  prove  some  theory,  to  demon- 
strate some  principle.  See  what  Froebel's  philosophy  did  to 
kindergarten  literature  for  a  long  while:  the  artists  were  en- 
slaved to  draw  pictures  "architecturally"  in  accord  with  the 
"gifts";  language  and  line  became  stiff  and  matter-of-factly 
representative.  Kindergarten  songs  —  both  in  words  and 
music  —  became  literal  and  false.  With  the  discovery  of 
"dramatic  instinct",  "expression  as  an  aid  to  reading",  "ges- 
ture as  a  way  toward  grace  and  freedom"  —  and  the  other  vari- 
ous symptoms  grouped  under  the  one  head  of  "educational 
dramatics",  a  mushroom  growth  of  plays  has  sprung  up  to  il- 
lustrate certain  reactions  to  dramatic  stimuli,  forecast  by  the 
educators.  They  are  now  running  to  the  drama  as  a  catch-all 
and  a  cure-all  for  every  social  evil;  plays  for  social  betterment, 
for  nationalization,  for  farm  and  fireside,  for  group  conscious- 
ness and  community  pride,  are  being  written  plentifully,  —  but 
they  are  either  too  local  or  so  timely  that  they  are  scarcely 
suited  for  print,  since  the  cause  for  them  quickly  vanishes. 

This  "dramatic  instinct"  is  all  very  praiseworthy  in  itself  — 
but  not  a  new  discovery.  The  living  quality  of  all  great  liter- 
ature is  its  dramatic  force:  how  otherwise  would  the  ballads 
stir  one?  why  do  the  clan  songs  and  battle  cries  of  the  past  still 


544  A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

tingle  the  blood?  Every  creative  reader  is  a  dramatist.  I  will 
go  this  far  with  the  educator:  it  is  one  of  the  natural  instincts 
of  the  child  to  stage  what  is  seen,  what  is  read.  It  is,  there- 
fore, not  unwise,  with  a  group  of  young  people,  to  begin  group 
dramatizations  of  the  stories  liked  best:  in  this  way  one  may 
reach  greater  depths  of  understanding  of  the  story;  humour 
may  be  brought  to  the  fore  by  such  action.  For  one  becomes 
quickened  to  a  sense  of  drama  in  all  live  situations.  Sometimes 
this  sense  of  drama  becomes  overstimulated,  and  the  Juvenile 
Courts  are  filled  with  the  evil  effects  of  an  unwise  strain  on 
imagination  and  emotion.  But  educators  believe  that  the  dis- 
quieting consequences  of  such  stimuli  as  lurid  melodrama  or 
hair-raising  movies  offer  might  be  circumvented  or  counter- 
influenced  by  giving  outlet,  through  "educational  dramatics", 
to  individual  pent-up  feeling.  A  boy  who  has  the  desire  to  be 
a  thief  is  given  the  opportunity  in  play  of  being  one;  then,  in 
contrast,  he  is  allowed  to  be  King  Arthur.  He  has  a  standard 
of  ethical  comparison,  and  his  outlawry  is  spent. 

Such  character  reactions  were  found  to  breed  excellent  re- 
sults when  Mrs.  Heniger  established  her  Educational  Theater, 
of  which  Mark  Twain  was  such  an  enthusiastic  director.  Since 
the  time  she  wrote  her  first  book  describing  the  history  of  this 
social  experiment,  and  since  Mrs.  Emma  Sheridan  Fry  wrote 
her  handbook,  "Educational  Dramatics",  in  which  she  defined 
the  processes  by  which  the  dramatic  instinct  expressed  itself, 
there  have  been  various  offshoots  of  the  movement.  But  the 
use  of  drama  in  education  was  not  an  entirely  new  thing.  In 
the  early  eighteenth  century  Madame  deGenlis  and  Berquin 
had  written  little  plays  of  education;  even  the  Edgeworths  - 
father  and  daughter  —  had  formulated  beliefs  as  to  the  ethical 
value  of  staid  dialogue.  Modern  educational  dramatics  are, 
therefore,  merely  a  return  to  an  old  method  of  catching  child 
interest,  utilizing  juvenile  physical  grace  and  directing  juvenile 
natural  imitativeness :  in  other  words,  of  giving  outlet  to  ethical 
conduct. 

Thus,  drama  has  entered  the  mill  of  service,  and  the  writing 
of  plays  for  children  has  mostly  been  done  to  satisfy  the  sparse 


An  Introduction  which  is  an  Appendix      545 

means  of  producing  such  plays  in  the  class-room,  in  the  church 
hall,  or  in  the  assembly-room  of  settlement  houses.  Perfunc- 
tory courses  are  given  in  normal  grades  on  how  to  dramatize  a 
simple  story,  on  how  to  produce  it  along  lines  of  practical  stage 
directing.  But  somehow  the  spirit,  the  beauty,  the  depth  of 
the  theater  is  missing.  And  it  is  just  this  which  will  have  to 
be  put  back  into  dramatization  for  children,  even  as  beauty  had 
to  be  put  back  in  kindergarten  books.  The  cry  is  raised  by 
devotees  of  the  "dramatic  instinct":  "Our  children's  emo- 
tions have  been  starved.  Give  them  drama."  But  instead  of 
answering  this  slogan  beneficially,  I  find  a  deplorably  unemo- 
tional lot  of  plays  being  written  —  dramatizations  of  geog- 
raphy, grammar,  arithmetic! 

I  have  given,  in  the  present  collection,  modern  examples  of 
some  of  the  old  forms  of  drama,  like  puppet  plays,  Punch  and 
Judy,  and  Pageants.  But  I  have  looked  everywhere  for  a 
modern  example  of  the  "processional"  which  would  be  to  the 
player  what  a  mural  of  St.  George  and  the  Dragon  might  be  to 
the  eye.  Our  writers  are  composing  pageants  overweighted 
with  "purpose"  —  the  desire  to  socialize  the  miner's  work  or 
something  of  the  sort. 

It  has  been  my  one  aim,  in  editing  the  plays  in  this  book,  to 
maintain,  as  far  as  I  was  able,  the  spirit  of  a  good  time  which 
is  born  of  clean,  wholesome  amusement.  I  have  no  educational 
axe  to  grind  where  the  dramatic  instinct  for  children  is  con- 
cerned. But,  to  judge  by  the  host  of  plays  I  have  read  as  a 
preparation  for  this  "Treasury",  I  am  fearful  that  joy  is  being 
driven  from  the  plays  written  for  the  schoolroom.  Remember, 
perfunctory  dialogue  is  not  drama ! 

MONTROSE  J.  MOSES. 


A  READING  LIST 

This  is  not  a  technical  bibliography,  though  it  attempts  to 
cover  the  salient  features  of  the  movement  to  select  better 
p}ays  for  schools  and  colleges;  and  it  gives  a  sufficient  number 
of  references  on  "educational  dramatics "  to  enable  the  reader 
to  go  further  afield.  There  being,  in  this  "Treasury",  a  few 
plays  which  are  descendants  of  older  forms,  it  has  been  thought 
well  to  include  references  to  a  few  books,  treating  historically 
of  the  development  of  the  forms  which  have  thus  survived  for 
revival. 

A  large  literature,  of  ephemeral  character,  is  collecting  on 
the  practical  aspects  of  "educational  dramatics."  There  has 
been  no  attempt  here  to  include  such  titles  in  great  number, 
inasmuch  as  in  every  public  library  The  Reader  s  Guide  is  made 
so  accessible.  Individual  experiments  in  group-playwriting, 
such  as  have  been  carried  on  by  the  Francis  W.  Parker  School, 
of  Chicago,  have  been  capably  described  and  analyzed  in  spe- 
cial publications,  procurable  on  application  to  the  school  itself. 

While  important  in  any  dramatic  work  of  an  educational 
nature,  —  folk  dances,  singing  games,  and  songs  have  not  been 
listed,  as  they  have  no  direct  bearing  on  the  plays  contained 
in  this  volume.  But  some  of  the  books  here  mentioned  contain 
ample  bibliographies  for  the  student's  use. 

As  for  individual  plays,  no  separate  list  is  given,  first,  be- 
cause others  have  done  the  task  to  date,  and  secondly,  because 
so  many  of  the  plays  are  ephemeral.  At  best,  a  bare  enumera- 
tion of  titles  has  only  indirect  value,  since  all  plays  need  to  be 
carefully  read  and  weighed  in  the  light  of  special  school  condi- 
tions and  occasions. 

Care  must  be  taken,  in  considering  many  of  the  titles  in 
such  lists  of  plays  and  pageants,  that  the  spirit  of  the  Great 
War  —  which  occasioned  the  writing  of  so  many  of  them  — 


548          A  Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

has  not  made  them  obsolete,  now  the  War  is  ended.  But,  in 
the  place  of  War  has  come  the  problem  of  Americanization, 
and  that  subject  is  now  being  dramatized  in  the  usual  "utili- 
tarian" manner. 

I  have  not  attempted,  under  the  subjects  of  Pantomime, 
Puppet,  Shadow  Play,  and  Pageantry,  to  note  articles  in  the 
various  art  and  drama  magazines,  for  they  are  to  be  found 
recorded  in  the  indices  of  the  various  magazine  guides. 

The  present  references,  however,  will  probably  satisfy  the 
reader  who  wishes  to  know  exactly  in  what  way  the  discovery 
of  the  "dramatic  instinct"  in  children  is  influencing  the  plays 
for  children,  and  the  various  school  theories  under  which  the 
coming  generation  is  being  moulded. 

Bantock,  G.    One  Hundred  Songs  of  England.     Musician's  Library,     New 

York:   Oliver  Ditson.    1914. 
Beegle,  Mary  Porter,  and  J.  R.  Crawford.    Community  Drama  and  Pageantry. 

New  Haven:   Yale  University  Press.    1916. 
Broadbent,  R.  J.    History  of  Pantomime.    London.    1901. 
Bronner,  Milton.    The  Cult  of  Pierrot.    Poet-Lore,  1908,  Vol.  19,  318-331. 
Browne,  William  Hand.    Harlequin  and  Hurly-burly.    Sewanee  Review,  1910, 

Vol.  18,  23-31. 
Chubb,  Percival,  and  Others.     Festivals  and  Plays.     New  York:     Harper. 

1912.    (Valuable  bibliographies,  especially  in  music.) 
Clark,  Barrett  H.    How  to  Produce  Amateur  Plays.    Boston:    Little,  Brown 

&Co. 
Collier,  John  Payne.    An  Account  of  Puppet  Plays  in  England.    Illustrated 

by  Cruikshank.     The  Tragical  Comedy  of  Punch  and  Judy.    London, 

1828. 
Davis,  Caroline  Hill.    Pageants  in  Great  Britain  and  the  United  States:    A 

List  of  References.    New  York  Public  Library.    1916. 
DeLeon,  T.  C.    Christmas  Pantomimes.    Lippincott"  s  Magazine,  Vol.  3,  36. 
Dickinson,  Thomas  H.    The  Pageant.    Play-book,  Vol.  2,  No.  4,  3-31,  Sep- 
tember, 1914. 
Edgerton,  Giles.    Pantomime:   Its  Place  in  Education.    Craftsman,  1910,  Vol. 

17,  637-646. 
Fry,  Emma  Sheridan.    Educational  Dramatics.    New  York:    Moffat,  Yard. 

1913. 
Greet,  Ben.    Shakespeare  for  Young  Readers  and  Amateur  Players.    Garden 

City:   Doubleday,  Page  &  Co. 
Hatcher,  Orie  Latham.     Book  for  Shakespeare  Plays  and  Pageants.     New 

York:  E.  P.  Dutton  &  Co.    1916. 


A  Reading  List  549 

Hazeltine,  Alice  I.  Plays  for  Children:  An  Annotated  Index.  St.  Louis  Pub- 
lic Library.  Monthly  Bulletin,  N.  s.,  Vol.  16,  No.  8.  1918. 

Heniger,  Alice  Minnie  Herts.  The  Children's  Educational  Theatre.  New 
York:  Harper. 

Heniger,  Alice  Minnie  Herts.  The  Kingdom  of  the  Child.  New  York:  E.  P. 
Dutton  &  Company.  1918. 

Hilliard,  Evelyiie,  Theodora  McCormick,  Kate  Oglebay.  Amateur  and  Edu- 
cational Dramatics.  New  York:  Macmillan.  1917. 

Joseph,  Helen  H.    A  Book  of  Marionettes.    New  York:   Huebsch.    1920. 

Langdon,  W.  C.  Suggestions  for  the  Celebration  of  the  Fourth  of  July  by 
means  of  Pageantry.  Division  of  Recreation.  Russell  Sage  Foundation. 

Lawrence,  W.  J.  Genesis  of  Pantomime.  Theatre,  N.  s.,  Vol.  25,  28.  Janu- 
ary, 1895. 

Lawrence,  W.  J.  Pantomime  in  the  United  States.  Theatre,  N.  s.,  Vol.  27, 
83.  February,  1896. 

Lemercier  De  Neuville,  Louis.  Souvenir  d'un  montreur  des  marionettes.  Paris, 
1911. 

Mackay,  Constance  D'Arcy.  Costumes  and  Scenery  for  Amateurs.  New 
York:  Henry  Holt  &  Co. 

Mackay,  Constance  D'Arcy.  How  to  Produce  Children's  Plays.  New  York: 
Henry  Holt  &  Co.  1915. 

Mackay,  Constance  D'Arcy.  Patriotic  Drama  in  Your  Town.  New  York: 
Henry  Holt  &  Co.  1918. 

Magnin,  Charles.  Histoire  des  marionnettes  en  Europe  depuis  1'antiquite 
jusqu'a  nos  jour.  Paris,  1862. 

Maindron,  Ernest.  Marionnettes  et  guignols;  les  poupees  agissants  et  par- 
lants  a  travers  les  ages.  Paris,  1901. 

Matthews,  Brander.  A  Book  about  the  Theatre.  New  York:  Scribner.  (Con- 
taining chapters  on  the  Toy  Theatre,  Pantomime,  Punch  and  Judy,  Pup- 
pet Plays  and  Shadow  Pantomime.)  See  also  Bookman,  1913,  Vol.  38, 
367-374. 

Miller,  E.  E.  Dramatization  of  Bible  Stories.  An  Experiment  in  the  Religious 
Education  of  Children.  University  of  Chicago  Press. 

Needham,  Mary  Master.  Folk  Festivals:  Their  Growth,  and  How  to  Give 
Them.  New  York:  Huebsch.  1912. 

Oglebay,  Kate.  Plays  for  Children.  A  Selected  List.  New  York:  H.  W.  Wil- 
son Co.  1920.  (Contains  references  to  books  about  Costumes  and  Sce- 
nery.) 

Patterson,  Ada.  Work  of  Tony  Sarg.  Theatre,  Vol.  26,  138-139.  September, 
1917. 

Peixotto,  Ernest  C.  Marionettes  and  Puppet  Shows  Past  and  Present.  Scrib- 
ner's,  Vol.  33,  341-348. 

Pemberton,  T.  Edgar.  "Book"  of  the  Pantomime.  Theatre  (London),  N.  a., 
Vol.  27,  25.  January,  1896. 


550  A   Treasury  of  Plays  for  Children 

Pierce,  Lucy  F.  Successful  Puppet  Shows.  Theatre,  Vol.  24, 152-153.  Septem- 
ber, 1916. 

Plays  and  Pageants,  a  List  of.  Prepared  by  the  Committee  on  Pageantry  and 
Drama,  War  Work  Council,  Young  Women's  Christian  Association.  1919. 

Pocci,  Franz.    Lustiges  Komodienbiichlein.    2  vols.    1907.      . 

Pollock,  Walter  Harris.  Punch  and  Judy.  Saturday  Review  (London),  Vol. 
89,  612-613. 

Sand,  Maurice.  History  of  the  Harlequinade.  2  vols.  Philadelphia:  J.  B. 
Lippincott  Co.  1915. 

Sand,  Maurice.    Le  Theatre  des  Marionnettes.    (M.  Dudevant.)    1890. 

Shakespeare  Festival.  Teachers'  College  Record,  Vol.  17,  No.  2,  March,  1916, 
142.  Bibliography,  184-195.  (Every  phase  of  Pageant  preparation  is 
covered.) 

Sowers,  William  Lee.     Recent  American  Pantomime.     Drama,  1919,  21-37.  , 
(See  also  Texas  Review,  1917,  Vol.  2,  235-247.) 

Speranza,  G.  S.  The  Marionette  Theatre  in  New  York.  Evening  Post,  March 
23,  1901. 

Stoddard,  Anne.  The  Renaissance  of  the  Puppet  Play.  Century,  1918,  Vol.  9C 
(N.  s.),  Vol.  74,  173-186. 

Symons,  Arthur.    Studies  in  Seven  Arts.    (Pantomime.)    1910. 

Tibbetts,  Gladys  C.  Better  High-school  Plays.  The  English  Journal.  Uni- 
versity of  Chicago  Press.  February,  1918,  Vol.  7,  No.  2,  98-107.  (An 
article  typical  of  the  special  and  personal  record.) 

Tony  Sarg's  Marionettes.  Dramatic  Mirror  (New  York) :  Vol.  78,  7.  February 
9,  1918.  ("The  Tony  Sarg  Marionette  Book"  is  announced  for  early  pub- 
lication.) 

Weed,  Inis.    Puppet  Plays  for  Children.    Century,  1916,  Vol.  91,  717-725. 


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